


End of the Trail

by Jane Elliot (JaneElliot)



Series: Previously Published [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gentle Western, M/M, Previously Published, Slow Burn, Western
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-09 17:22:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 45,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19891537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneElliot/pseuds/Jane%20Elliot
Summary: “Its the not the destination, it's the journey.”― Ralph Waldo Emerson





	1. Chapter 1

There was a rider in the distance.

Will pulled up his horse and frowned. Everything within his line of sight belonged to him; there shouldn't be anyone else riding his land. There was something strange about the way the man was riding, too: he was leaning to the side and jerking with the horse's steps and even as Will watched the rider slid to the side and down to the ground.

Swearing, Will kicked Brownie into a gallop.

By the time he reached the rider, the man was attempting to stand up, using his horse's leg as a support. Will stared for a moment, trying to imagine using Brownie's leg like a ladder. He then imagined what it would be like to be kicked in the head by his horse.

"You all right?" he asked the struggling man, though for the moment he remained cautiously in his saddle.

"Fine," the man said, managing to lift himself nearly to his knees before collapsing again. He grunted and curled up, obviously in pain.

Will sighed and slid off his horse. The man flinched away from his touch, and Will sighed again. "I ain't going to hurt you. Just lie still."

Once the man started cooperating, it was a simple matter to find his injury: a bullet hole in his side. "You need a doctor."

"No doctor," the man said through gritted teeth.

Will considered the length of the ride back into town, and weighed it against the merits of Doc Smithson and his massive tank of imported leeches. "No doctor," he agreed. "Help me get you up on your horse; I'll take you home to my wife."

Between the two of them, they got the man back into the saddle. As Will mounted Brownie, he said, "My name is Will. Will Connors."

The man leaned forward a hair and held out his hand. "John," he said, his brown eyes boldly meeting Will's green ones.

Will frowned a bit at the lack of surname but he respected a person who would look a man in the eye. Holding John's gaze, Will took the hand and shook it firmly. "It's not far from here. Holler if you think you aren't going to make it."

"I'll do that," John said, and he even managed a smile.

Already feeling a sense of misgiving, Will turned Brownie around and led the way back to his home.

~~~

Molly apparently saw them approaching because by the time Will helped John off his horse and into the house, she already had water heating on the stove. Outside, Tommy was running to the creek with an empty water pail in hand, his light brown hair blown back by the wind he was making. Tommy was small for his age but he sure could run.

"What happened?" Molly asked with the same quiet urgency she used when one of the heifers was having a difficult birth. A white apron marked with the faint hint of well-washed bloodstains was tied around her waist and she was tying a rag over her head to cover her honey-brown hair. Will felt a swell of warmth in his chest as he answered.

"He's been shot. Didn't want a doctor."

Molly snorted softly, her hands deftly rolling up the sleeves of her dress. "I don't blame him. Help me get him on the bed."

In short order, they had John lying on their bed with towels lying underneath him to protect the mattress. He'd passed out sometime during the move, which saved him some pain as Will removed his clothing, though it made Will's job more difficult. He paused to rub a piece of the man's shirt between his fingers. It was made of a soft, smooth fabric, far finer than anything Will had ever owned, though he'd seen similar shirts while growing up back east. Silk, he thought it was called. The gun and belt currently draped over a chair in the corner were also of the highest quality, and John's suit was made of tightly woven wool. Maybe John had gotten shot while someone was trying to rob him.

The man himself was stocky but not fat, with dark brown hair on his head, a respectable coating of black hair on his body, and more than a few scars marking his torso. Will rubbed a small round patch of smooth skin high on the man's shoulder and tried to imagine why a clearly wealthy man would be sporting an old bullet wound. Of course, it was dangerous in the west. Maybe he made a habit of getting robbed.

Tommy, having hauled enough water to satisfy Molly for the moment, clattered into the room and crowded in on the other side of the bed, his green eyes bright with excitement. "What happened to him, Pa? Is he going to die?"

"He's been shot," Will answered, carefully pulling John's union suit away from the bullet wound. It wasn't as bad as he'd feared, more of a deep gouge than a bullet hole. "He's not going to die," he added when he saw that the wound had stopped bleeding – a good sign. "Go help your ma."

Tommy muttered in protest, but went as ordered. Will gave up trying to pull the union suit down John's legs and ended up using his knife to cut the cotton off instead. The legs were just as hairy as the chest had been and John's thighs had that heavy muscle that came from spending hours a day in the saddle. Will had similar muscles, though his body as a whole was much leaner than John's and didn't have nearly as much hair.

Curious, Will picked up John's right hand: it was heavily callused on the palm and lower fingers, probably from reins and from holding a gun, but without any calluses on his fingertips, which meant he wasn't a farmer or laborer, not that either was likely with the quality of John's clothing. There was a callus between John's index and middle finger, though, which indicated a lot writing. 

Will frowned. Generally people who did a lot of riding and shooting didn't do much writing.

"Couldn't wait to see me naked?" John said, his eyes still closed.

Will started and dropped John's hand, but John said nothing else and eventually Will decided the man had just experienced a moment of delirium. Probably imagined Will was someone else.

As soon as Will stepped back from the bed, Molly took over. She drenched the wound in whisky from a small bottle, strictly reserved for medicinal purposes, then sewed up the gouge. Once she was satisfied with the stitches, she poured more whisky over the wound and wrapped John's torso with bandages she'd boiled on the stove. "There," she said when she was done, wiping her bloody hands on her apron. "It's up to him now."

Will and Molly were both quiet that night at dinner, which was more than made up for by Tommy's chatter as he came up with increasingly improbable stories to explain John's injury, from a simple case of him being at the wrong place at the wrong time to his most outlandish theory: that John was really John Anderson, shot in one of his infamous stagecoach robberies. "Enough," Molly finally said, as Tommy speculated that maybe John had been shot by his own gang, caught in the crossfire as Indians tried to steal the stagecoach away from them. "Time to go make up a bed in the barn."

Tommy's protests were firmly overridden and he sulked his way outside, Molly following him with an armful of bedding. Will shook his head. Usually a night in the barn was a treat for the boy.

When Molly came back, she had a small smile on her face. "You know, this means we'll be sleeping in Tommy's bed."

Tommy's very small bed. Will grinned back.

As they hurried their way into the small lean-to attached to the side of the house, Will asked, "Indians?"

"Too many dime novels," Molly whispered back, wrapping Will's hand in her own work-roughened but still beautiful fingers and leading him to the bed.

~~~

The inevitable infection kept John in bed for nearly a week. By the end of that time, he was clearly getting irritable, though he hid it well around Molly and Tommy. For some reason, he didn't seem to feel the need to hide his temper from Will, however, which sometimes resulted in sharp conversations:

"I brought you some more tea."

"I don't want any tea," John said petulantly. "It tastes foul."

Will rolled his eyes. "You sound like Tommy."

"Smart lad, Tommy."

"It'll make you feel better," Will cajoled.

"I'm not eight, Will," John said grumpily.

"Could've fooled me," Will retorted. "I put honey in it."

John's mouth, undoubtedly primed for another argument, snapped shut. "Well," he said grudgingly. "As long as it's just one cup."

Will smirked and passed the mug over.

Tea-related arguments aside, John was a good guest overall. He made Molly smile with small jokes, entranced Tommy with adventure stories that Will was privately convinced were shameless tall tales, and even helped with small chores around the house as soon as he was well enough to do so. Still, Will couldn't help but wish that he'd get his bed back sometime soon. Tommy's small bed was conducive to some activities, but sleeping wasn't one of them.

Two days after John's fever broke, Will decided it was safe to check on the cattle and maybe do a bit of work on the extra hay shed he was building in the winter pasture. Running this ranch without hired hands was a challenge, but it was small enough to be doable with Molly and Tommy's help and money was still tight.

He was on his way back to the house when he heard the gunshots. Swearing under his breath, his heart racing, Will kicked Brownie into a gallop, knowing he was too far away, that there was no way he could get back in time, that his wife and son were probably already dead, or worse.

The house was quiet when Brownie slid to the stop, Will already halfway off the horse's back. He burst inside the front door to see Molly, Tommy, and John all sitting around the table. Molly and Tommy were both white faced and Molly's hair was down around her shoulders, but no one seemed to be bleeding and a frantic search of the room didn't reveal any dangerous outlaws waving weapons, though John was sitting with a straight back and tense shoulders and his eyes were flicking around the room as if searching for more enemies.

Will's breath caught in his throat as he saw a lump on the floor, near the back window. It was surrounded by a spreading puddle of blood.

"What happened?" he forced out.

Before Will finished speaking, Molly and Tommy had launched themselves out of their chairs and were hugging him tightly, which left John to answer, "Thieves, I think, looking for easy targets. They saw an isolated ranch without a bunkhouse and decided to see what they could get."

"There were five of 'em, pa," Tommy said and despite everything, Will managed a tiny smile. Even with tears in his eyes, Tommy's enthusiasm was irrepressible. "They all had guns, and they wanted Mama to show them the barn."

Will's eyes widened and he snapped his head around to look at Molly. "John stopped them," she said, her voice shaky and occasionally breaking. "I thought I'd scared them off with the shotgun, but they just went around to the back. One of them grabbed T-tommy before I could reload and he said he'd let Tommy go if I... but then John... John –"

"He was amazing, Dad," Tommy cut in. "He shot the guy who was holding me. Didn't even hesitate, just lifted the gun and said, 'you shouldn't've come here'. Then he pulled the trigger and the bad guy jerked and –" Molly shushed him, having apparently heard as much as she could bear. 

Will tightened his grip, holding his family close as he looked up to find John watching them with shadowed eyes. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you."

John offered a tight smile in return and quietly left the room.

Will let him go, all of his attention back on his family.

~~~

A week later, John emerged from the bedroom wearing the clothes that he had arrived in. Molly had washed and repaired them, but they hung a bit on John's frame; he'd only recently started to regain the weight that he'd lost in that first week. "Oh," Molly said, when she caught sight of John. "You're not leaving already, are you?"

"I've trespassed on your hospitality long enough," John said, with a charming smile.

Molly looked like she wanted to argue for a moment but, after taking a hard look at John, she just shook her head. "I'll pack up something for your lunch."

John's smile turned warmer and noticeably more genuine. "Thank you, Molly."

She just harrumphed in reply and pulled out the cookie jar. John positively beamed.

Will found himself wanting to smile at the scene, but he managed to restrain himself. "You sure you're fit to ride?"

"I've ridden in much worse condition than this," John said, pulling his eyes away from the cookie jar with obvious reluctance. "Thank you both for taking such good care of me. I won't forget it."

"Come back anytime," Molly said with a smile, wrapping up a couple of apples, a loaf of bread, and some salt pork to along with the cookies. "You're always welcome here."

"Thank you again, Molly," John said with a smile and a small bow. "Will." Another smile, though no bow. "I'll be sure to find Tommy and say goodbye before I go."

John walked out the front door and Will watched him go, with the realization that he'd probably never see John again.

~~~

Two days later, he went into town. On the poster board next to the post office was a new wanted poster, for "the notorious murderer and stage robber" John Anderson. A $500 reward was offered. 

The picture beneath was of John.


	2. Chapter 2

It was nearly three years later when Will heard from John Anderson again. As it happened, he was on the roof of his barn and he damn near fell off at the sound of John's greeting.

"Careful, Will," he heard John say and the words were accompanied by the scratching sound of wood on wood as the ladder was pulled away from the building. Since Will could barely get to the ground _with_ the assistance of the ladder, he was pretty well stranded. 

Well, hell.

He considered his options and, with a resigned sigh, decided that the best thing he could do right now was act like outlaws came and stole his ladder every day of the week. So often, in fact, that ladder-stealing was barely worth a moment's irritation and certainly not the cause for any kind of anxiety. With that in mind, he twisted about until his head was hanging over the eave.

"What do you want, Anderson?"

A flash of disappointment passed over John's face. "So you found out."

"Hard not to, with those wanted posters pasted all over town. What do you want?"

He raised his eyebrows. "What makes you think I want anything?"

Will glared at him.

"Well, dinner would be nice," John allowed, and Will had to admit the man looked a bit thinner than he remembered. His hair was longer, too, and his clothes more dusty, but he still stood tall and his dark brown eyes never wavered as he spoke.

Will scowled. "Then put the damn ladder back up so's I can get down." John just crossed his arms and made no movement towards the ladder. Will sighed. "I haven't forgotten what you did for my family. Besides, Molly promised that you'd always be welcome. I ain't going to go back on that."

"Where is Molly?" John asked. "I knocked on the front door, but no one answered."

"She died," John bit out. "Two winters ago."

John paled. "I'm sorry to hear about." There was an awkward pause, before John added, "What about your boy?"

"Back east, with his aunt."

John considered that. "What about visitors? Get many folks stopping by?"

"We're four miles from town!"

"That's not too far for a friendly visit," John said.

There was some truth to that statement; when Molly had been alive folks were coming by the house nearly every week. Will hadn't been very sociable after Molly's death, however, and four miles was an awful long way to come to be ignored. "Haven't had a visitor in over a year," Will finally said. 

John nodded. "Move away from the eave." Will cautiously did so and John promptly lifted the ladder back up against the side of the barn. He held it steady as Will laboriously made his way down.

"Thanks," Will said gruffly when his feet were safely on the ground. More than once he'd fallen the last few feet, thanks to the shaky ladder and his nearly useless leg, but faced with the prospect of struggling through on his own or hiring help from town, he'd opted to struggle.

"What happened to your leg?" John said and Will was surprised to hear honest concern in the question.

"Mud slide," Will said gruffly. John stared at him pointedly. Will sighed. "It was after one of the spring storms. I was walking on the butte at the edge of the property, deciding the best place to put in a fence, when the trail just slid right out from under me. Fell onto some rocks. Neighbor found me the next day, brought the doctor."

John nodded but didn't say anything. The two of them stood there for a few moments, Will awkwardly wondering what John wanted, and John looking as calm and unperturbed as he ever had. "I'll make a deal with you," John finally said.

Will's eyes narrowed. "What kind of deal?"

"A fair one. Put me up for the night and I'll help you fix your roof tomorrow."

Will didn't know what to make of that. The last time that John had stayed with them, he'd helped out with minor chores: feeding the chickens, setting the table, drying the dishes. Easy chores, the ones they usually saved for Tommy. Chores that weren't likely to blister his soft fingers. Will couldn't quite imagine John doing physical labor. "Really?"

"Have you ever known me to say something I didn't mean?"

Will sighed. "Guess I haven't." He looked up at the roof, still a long ways from finished, and considered how much faster it would go with an extra set of hands. Then he thought of Molly and sighed again. "You've got yourself a deal."

John smiled again. "Thank you, Will."

"Please don't mention it," Will muttered as he stumped his way into the house to build up the fire.

He wasn't as good a cook as Molly had been, but Will managed to put together a respectable meal of salt pork, beans, and corn biscuits. Undoubtedly John was used to something fancier, but he sat down and set to like it was a grand feast.

Dinner was eaten in awkward silence. Awkward on Will's part, anyway. John seemed to be enjoying himself immensely, cleaning his plate down to the drippings and then serving himself up a second helping. Will watched with raised eyebrows and finally asked, "When was the last time you ate, anyway?"

"Noon. Yesterday."

"Why?"

"Not many safe places between Mexico and here."

Will shook his head. "Would've thought it'd be safer for you to stay in Mexico."

"Depends on what you consider safe," John said, mopping up the last of his gravy with a biscuit.

Will didn't know what to say to that, so he changed the subject. "You can have Tommy's bed." He gestured toward the tiny room that he and Molly had shared when John was here last. These days he was mostly using it for storage, though the bed was still clear. The linens were probably gritty with dust by now, but Will didn't offer to shake them out. He didn't want John to get too comfortable.

John just smiled and carried his dishes to the sink. Before Will's surprised eyes, John poured a few cups of water into the basin, picked up the soap, and proceeded to do the washing up. He was halfway finished before Will thought to protest, but it hardly mattered as John completely ignored him and in the end the dishes were washed cleaner and faster than Will had ever managed on his own.

Normally, Will worked late into the night until he was so exhausted that he passed out on the bed he and Molly had shared. Thanks to John, he'd finished early and he wasn't nearly tired enough to go to sleep, which was how he found himself sitting by the table, watching as John sketched by the precious light of a single candle.

"That's not bad," Will said, when the silence got to be too much for him. It was funny – he'd spent the last couple of years going weeks without saying a word but the moment someone else was in the house, he couldn't seem to keep his mouth shut.

"I've gotten better," John said, eyeing his drawing critically. "Easier when you have a solid surface to work on." He looked up suddenly, catching and holding Will's gaze. "I notice you didn't say grace tonight."

Will scowled. That's what he got for opening his mouth. "Haven't had much to say to God, lately. Not much that's polite."

"I would've thought you'd be thanking him for not taking your leg," John said mildly, setting his sketchbook aside. "Limp like that, it's a miracle you still have it."

"Curse is more like it," Will growled. "Damn thing barely works. I should've let them take it off."

John eyed Will for a few silent seconds, long enough that Will had to fight the urge to shift in his seat. "I didn't know Molly for very long," John said finally. "But I know she would've been damn angry to hear you say something like that."

"Well she ain't here, is she?" Will retorted, lurching upright and did his best to stomp out of the room with only one good leg. He would've slammed the door, but the house had shifted and the door didn't hang right anymore, which meant it wouldn't shut. Will tried to ignore that fact as he jerked off his boots and his outer clothes and threw them to the other side of the room. It was a stupid display but it burned off enough anger that he didn't send his lamp along after them. Tired and frustrated, Will stretched out on the mattress and tried his best to pretend he was alone in the cabin.

~~~

They worked on the barn roof most of the next day and, while Will had to admit that John did his best, it was clear the man had never done anything as mundane as building repairs before, which meant there was still a fair bit left to do when they stopped for the night. John was a fast learner though, and once he picked up the basics the two of them were working faster than Will could have managed on his own. Besides, with John holding the ladder Will was willing to risk the climb more than once a day. It meant the difference between a hot lunch and no lunch at all and Will no longer had to resort to pissing off the roof if he didn't want to quit working for the day.

John announced that he was going to cook lunch and Will didn't protest. If John proved to be a good cook, then Will would encourage him to make dinner as well.

Unfortunately, John did not prove to be a good cook. The beans were strangely sweet, the dried beef somehow even more leathery than when John had put it on to boil, and the biscuits were burned on the outside and raw on the inside. Will choked down what he could and tried not to laugh as John glared at the stove as if it had personally betrayed him. If that glare had been directed at a person, blood would likely have been shed but Will figured the stove was safe.

Still, the thought was a good reminder of who John was and Will felt his amusement die. John may have never raised a hand to Will's family but Will couldn't let himself forget that the man and his gang had killed dozens of stagecoach guards in the course of their robberies. "Should I be expecting the law to show up looking for you?" he asked, shoving away the rest of his food. The pigs would take care of it.

John raised an eyebrow. "Are you planning on telling 'em I'm here?" His voice carried a hint of affable menace that it probably held just before he killed a stagecoach guard.

Will scowled and decided to keep his questions to himself.

~~~

The next day, they finished up the barn's roof in the middle of the afternoon and John suggested that the corral could use some work. Will couldn't exactly argue the point – when not in his stall, Brownie had been restrained to the lead for the last few months and he was getting irritable. 

While John began digging holes, Will went to inspect his supply of posts. They had been stored in the barn and it appeared that one of the holes in the roof had been nearly on top of them, because they were grey and cracked with exposure. 

Will ran his fingers over the weathered wood with a frown. His first thought was that these posts were better fit for firewood than a fence – it was doubtful they'd last the year. Common sense told him he should ride into town and get fresh wood, otherwise he'd find himself mending his corral again before the year was out.

His second thought was a memory: the quiet menace in John's voice as he'd asked, "Are you planning on telling 'em I'm here?" 

Will sighed and carried the old wood out to where John was waiting.

~~~

That night, over a dinner of pancakes – John's request; apparently the man still had a sweet tooth – John asked, "Are you afraid to die?"

Will's fork clattered against his plate, but he managed to keep his voice calm as he answered, "Should I be?"

"Most people are."

That wasn't quite what Will had meant with his question, so he stayed quiet.

John's eyes narrowed. "Do you really think I'm fixing to kill you? After repairing your barn and working on your corral?"

Put like that, Will didn't really think so, but just to be contrary he answered, "Job's easier with two. Labor's free."

John stared at him. "You really must think highly of this heap of dirt you call a ranch."

Now that stung. "I've got money in the bank," Will snapped back. "Is that what you're here for?"

"No!" John shouted.

"Then why are you here?" Will all but yelled.

The room suddenly got very quiet. John sat back in his chair. "Mexico was getting a bit crowded," he said with an off-handed air that Will didn't believe for a second.

What the hell did that mean? "The law?"

"Worse," John said with a sardonic smirk. "Upstarts." Will's face must've shown his confusion, because John said, "Fastest way to gain a reputation is to kill a man who already has one."

Will didn't believe that excuse for a second. "Then why come here?"

John's smile grew a bit more real. "Honestly? I'd planned on throwing myself on the mercy of your wife."

That still didn't answer the question. Did John think that Will was just too dumb to see the misdirection? "What about the town?" he pushed. "They know what you look like; that you're an outlaw."

John sighed. "Everyone knows what I look like, Will. My wanted poster hangs in every jail and telegram office from California to the Mississippi and my bounty's the second highest in the country. Not a lot of places I can go where people aren't looking to shoot me on sight."

Will nodded slowly. Out of everything that John had said since he'd arrived, that was the one statement he found easiest to believe. 

John's eyes suddenly locked on Will's. "And I thought you said no one from town ever came out here."

"That's true," Will said. To himself, he admitted that he could use a second hand on the ranch. Out loud, he just said casually, "The pasture fence could use work."

John raised his eyebrows. "Could it now?"

Will ate a piece of pancake by way of reply.

After dinner, Will went into the second bedroom to haul out his bedroll and he raised his eyebrows at the neatness of the room. John had apparently been busy when Will had thought he'd been sleeping – the room was cleaner than it had been in years. The floor was swept, Will's supplies were neatly stacked along the walls and it even looked like John might have dusted. Even the bed was made, though the sheets still looked brownish with grit. Laundry wasn't something that could be done quietly in the middle of the night, but Will suddenly found himself wondering if John were as adept with a wash basin as he was with a broom. He nearly smiled at the thought of letting someone else fight with the piece of shit wringer that Molly had managed to use with such ease.

As Will carefully checked the content of his bedroll for spiders and scorpions, he realized that he'd been making some very foolish assumptions about John Anderson. For one thing, despite the fine material of his clothes and the lack of calluses on his fingers, John probably hadn't come from money. Most outlaws didn't, though a few had. Still, the assumption of John's privileged origins had been squatting in the back of his mind ever since he'd first met the man, which was why John kept surprising him. Rich kids didn't learn to sweep or to dust or to make up their beds. Hell, even middle-class kids didn't learn those things – Will's parents had had a full-time maid and a part-time cook as well as a woman who came by every week to help out with the laundry, and Will's dad had only been a clerk, albeit a senior one.

That meant John had been poor. Probably very poor if his ma couldn't even afford a scullery maid to do the dishes and scrub the floors. He couldn't cook, though, which meant he likely had sisters or that he was from back east. Maybe both, as Western mothers knew how hard it was to find a ready-made meal west of Missouri and made sure their sons were prepared to fend for themselves. Will only learned to cook because Molly had decided to start teaching Tommy.

Will rolled up his blanket and opened his saddlebags for inspection. He could imagine a poor Eastern boy coming west in the hopes of finding adventure and opportunity and falling in with a bad crowd. It would be so easy for an innocent kid to get soured by bad company.

At that point in his thoughts, Will huffed in annoyance. He knew what he was doing; he was making excuses for the killer currently staying under his roof. Even if John had been an innocent child once, he'd long since made his choices. Whatever John had once been, he was a thief now, and a murderer.

A thief and a murderer who had treated Will's family with kindness and respect, who had saved Will's son, and who had been promised shelter by Will's late wife.

With a quiet grunt, Will cleared his thoughts and focused on packing up his supplies. And if a second bag of sugar happened to make its way into the saddlebags, well, Molly did always say that cornbread came out better with a bit of sugar in the mix.

~~~

The fence was in terrible shape. Will knew he'd let it go longer than he should have, but even two years of neglect couldn't explain whole sections of the fence pulled down. He was going to have to do a headcount of his cattle – it'd be a miracle if he hadn't lost any.

Out loud, he merely growled, "Grady."

John glanced over. "Grady?"

"He owns the next ranch over to the east," Will said flatly. "He's been pushing me to sell."

John's attention turned back to the fence. "I could take care of him for you."

That cut through the haze of anger like nothing else could have. "What do you mean by that?"

"I think you know."

Will pressed his lips together until they ached. "No," he gritted out. "No. Molly promised you shelter and so you can stay with me as long as you need to, but if you kill someone else then we're done. I'll turn you in myself."

A strange expression flashed across John's face, one that Will would have almost called pleased, if that had made any sense. Then the mask of cool affability was firmly in place again. "Fair enough, Will. I promise not to kill anyone while staying with you, except in self-defense."

Will's eyes narrowed at the qualifier, but he couldn't exactly order a man not to defend himself. He gave a reluctant nod of agreement.

That night they camped next to a tiny spring near the north end of Will's ranch. It didn't produce enough water for a homestead or else Will would have seriously considered moving his home closer, but it was enough for a comfortable camp. Will filled up his canteen the moment they stopped and took a long drink with deep satisfaction. The spring was sweet and cold and nothing like the muddy creek the town called a river. Nearby, the horses settled in to decimate the tiny patch of green grass that lived near the spring; they didn't get green grass often and were so focused on their eating that they didn't even seem to notice John stripping off their gear.

The two men were nearly silent as they set up camp and as Will started a small cook fire, he wondered at how he and John were working together more smoothly after less than a week than Will had after a month with Molly's family and far more smoothly than Will had ever managed in the three years he'd spent as a junior clerk. It was a bit unsettling the way Will knew without asking that John was going to take care of the horses, just as John apparently knew that Will was going to take care of the fire.

Will frowned at that last thought and deliberately blanked his mind as he finished building up the small blaze and went off to find more wood.

Later, he lay on his bedroll on the opposite side of the flames from John, staring up at the stars. They were so much brighter here than they had been in Philadelphia, and when the Connors family had first moved out west they'd spent many a night sitting outside, gaping at the night sky. That had been a long time ago, though, and Will couldn't remember the last time he'd taken the time to appreciate the beauty of starlight.

On the other side of the fire, John suddenly rolled on his side. "Will? How did Molly die?"

Will blinked, surprised at the sudden question. "Why?"

"Just curious. She seemed like a strong woman."

Will's lips twitched a bit at that description. Molly had been a strong woman, and damn proud of that fact. His brief attempt at a smile disappeared entirely as he answered, "The winter after you stayed with us, she got the influenza. She made it, but her lungs were damaged and when she was hit with ague a year later..." Will sighed. He still remembered every minute of that last, horrible night: sitting in an uncomfortable chair right next to the bed, holding Molly's hand as her wheezing breaths grew more and more labored, until that final, pained gasp. The terrible silence that followed. Tommy coming into the room in the early morning light, rubbing red-rimmed eyes as he asked after his mama.

Will blinked rapidly to quiet the sudden sting in his eyes.

"I'm sorry."

Will grunted. The lump in his throat made it hard to do much else.

"Is that when your boy left?"

Will swallowed a couple of times, the nodded. "Molly's sister came and took Tommy." 

"A sister?" John sounded intrigued, and maybe just a bit amused. "Was she pretty?"

Will scowled reflexively at the memory of Mrs. Charlotte Rutherford's garish clothes and haughty sneer. "No." Frankly, if Will had been in any shape at all to take care of a young boy, he'd have refused to let Mrs. Rutherford take Tommy. As it was, he sometimes wondered if he'd made a mistake in letting his son go back east.

"Pity," John said and from the rustling noises it sounded like he'd rolled over onto his back. "Any women since then?"

Will's eyes widened and he snapped his head to the side to stare at John. "That's not any of your goddamn business."

John stared back innocently. "Touchy subject?"

Will just growled, turned his back on John, and tried his best to go to sleep.

~~~

The next morning they ran into the cattle just south of the winter pasture and Will did his headcount while trying to ignore the way John was shaking his head at him. Will knew it was foolish to leave his cattle entirely unattended, fence or no fence, but he wasn't budging on the subject of hired hands. A herd as small as Will's wasn't much of a temptation for rustlers. Besides, cowherds were expensive, between the food, pay, and lodgings. Will wasn't entirely sure his land could support a herd large enough to pay for extra help.

The count came up three short. "Damn."

"Missing anything?"

Will shot him a glare. "Two cows and a steer." The steer would be missed, as it had just reached the age to be sold to the stockyards, but the cows were the real loss. A steer drew the greater price from the stockyards, but cows produced new sources of income each year. 

"How large is your herd?"

_With or without the missing cattle?_ Will thought sourly. "Ninety-eight today. In a few weeks, I'll be taking thirty or so to Bisbee for auction."

"By yourself?" John asked with an insulting level of disbelief.

"I managed it by myself last year," Will shot back. He didn't feel the need to add that he'd only had ten that year. The two hundred dollars he'd gotten for that lot was just about gone and soon he was going to have to make a decision between slaughtering one of his cows or dipping into his savings.

That was another thing John didn't need to know.

John stared out over the herd. "Aren't you supposed to have a dog of some sort to help with this?"

Will stared at him in disbelief. "That's for sheep."

"Hm. I could've sworn I'd heard about cattle dogs." 

"Molly's family never used dogs," Will said defensively.

John continued to stare at the cattle for a moment before asking thoughtfully, "How do you get them to move?"

Will rolled his eyes. "It's not hard. Just ride behind them, making noise. They know where they're supposed to be."

"In that case, we should split up. I'll take the west." Off Will's confused look, he added, "Unless we're planning on giving up the animals without even looking for them."

"But –"

"After all, if one man can drive thirty cattle fifty miles, it can't be that hard to drive one over a few acres."

Will glared at John. John smirked back. "Fine," Will gritted out. " _I'll_ take the west," he added, just to be contrary.

"You're the boss," John answered. He turned and rode off before Will could answer.

Alone but for the cattle, Will turned west. As his eyes flickered automatically over the landscape, his mind kept coming back to the way John had said 'unless _we're_ planning on giving up the animals'. _We're_. As in _we_.

It was starting to dawn on Will that John wasn't going to be leaving anytime soon. That begged the question: which was more dangerous, taking John on the cattle drive to Bisbee or leaving him at Will's ranch alone?

Dammit. He needed better options.

~~~

Will found one of the cows and was busy driving her back to the herd when he saw John riding in from the opposite direction at a gallop. "Will," he called. "I found them, but one's hurt."

"Hell," Will said under his breath and kicked his horse into a run.

They found the steer and the cow huddled together in the lee of a large boulder, clearly having decided that in lieu of a large group, they'd settle for a herd of two. The cow was standing on three legs, but as Will watched the back left leg went back down to the ground. The cow moaned and lifted the leg back up again.

"Damn." Well, at least Will wasn't going to have to take any money out of savings, but he had a feeling this situation was about to get tense. "John, how long were you planning on staying?"

John's face suddenly went blank. "Tired of me already, Will?"

Will sighed. "The cow's gonna have to be slaughtered, but there's no way she'll make it back to the corral. I'll need to get Jesse's wagon and he's not likely to let me take it alone."

"Jesse?"

"Jesse Harper. He owns a homestead north of here, with a smokehouse. He'll smoke the meat for a haunch."

"And you and this Harper are friendly?"

"Friendly enough that he'll expect to come in for coffee." Where he'd undoubtedly see the bed made up in the boy's room and the extra dishes by the sink. Will shook his head and added, "He was the one who found me after the mud slide and who fetched the doctor. I'm not going to refuse him hospitality."

John narrowed his eyes and stared at Will for a moment. "How long will it take for you to get to Harper's place and back?"

"Couple of hours. Wagon's heavy."

"And how long does it take to smoke a cow?"

"Four, five days."

John nodded. "I'll be cleared out by the time you get back with the wagon."

Will blinked. He hadn't thought John would be that easy to get rid of. "Where will you go?"

John shrugged. "I have some supplies buried up north."

"Buried?" Will asked in disbelief.

"Never know when you'll need supplies," John said. "An outlaw's life is a dangerous one."

"Then why do it?"

"Because... there are worse lives." John turned his horse. "See you in a week, Will."

Will could only gape as John rode away.


	3. Chapter 3

The week that followed was one of the longest of Will's life. He'd gotten surprisingly used to John's presence in the house, to having someone sitting across on the other side of the dinner table each night, to having a second pair of hands helping with chores around the ranch. Evenings dragged on interminably and Will tripped over his own leg on the first day more often than he had the whole of the previous week. 

After eight days, Will was starting to wonder if John was coming back. The thought spawned a heavy weight in his belly, a weight that didn't go away no matter how much Will pretended it didn't exist.

He'd just about decided that he was alone again when he heard a horse snort outside, combined with the sound of... clucking?

Will hustled outside as fast as he could. John was still on his horse, with a feather-filled cage tied to the top of his saddlebags.

"Is that a chicken?"

"Nope," John said, sliding off his horse with an ease that Will envied. "It's three chickens."

Will stared askance at the poultry. "You're the one prepping them for dinner."

"They're not for eating," John said, dragging the cage down. "Got the beef smoked?"

"Yeah." Deciding that the best course of action was to pretend that the chickens weren't actually there, Will added, "I got the fence posts."

John tensed. "You went into town."

Will stared at him. "W – I needed wood. And flour and sugar and beans. Can't live on salt pork and smoked beef forever."

John just turned and walked into the house. Will watched him go, doing his best to quell his irritation.

Then he went to take the crate of chickens into the barn.

~~~

They worked separately over the next few days, Will on the fence and John on a chicken coop. The fence was finished first, primarily because John rebuilt the coop three times before he was satisfied with it. The final product was, Will had to admit, the sturdiest, best-built, and largest chicken coop he had ever seen. Apparently John was anticipating raising a whole flock of chickens.

Will made a mental note to look into what kind of chicken feed they had next time he went into town.

Maybe because they spent so much time apart during the day, they started to get a bit chatty while engaged in their separate pursuits at night.

"Will, did you know that a chicken can lay up to three hundred eggs a year?" John asked as he sketched what was undoubtedly a picture of a chicken. It seemed to be his favorite subject of late.

Will grunted and turned the page on his book. It was one of the dime novels that Tommy had left behind and it wasn't bad. He made a note to mention that in his next letter to Tommy and to pick up a few more books next time he was in town, preferably ones with larger text. Good as the book was, squinting at the page was giving him a headache.

"I heard chickens need meat to make that many eggs," John added, lighting a fresh candle off of the dying stub of the previous one. Will sighed and put candles on his mental shopping list. "Maybe we should feed them some of the beef."

"Beef?" Will asked absently, his eyes glued to the page as Jesse James burst into a bank and pulled out his gun. He wondered if John had ever robbed a bank. If he had, Will'd lay down good money that John did it better than James.

"And greens," John said. "Chickens love greens."

Will looked up at that. "You're making that up."

"Honest truth," John said, shading in something at the top of his page. "Didn't you ever raise chickens?"

"Grew up in Philadelphia," Will said. "Not a lot of chickens."

John looked up, his face full of disbelief. "You're from the city?"

"Born and raised." John kept staring at him, so he added, "Molly's family were farmers. They taught me how to handle cattle."

"But not chickens."

Will felt his cheeks warm just a bit. "The women took care of the chickens." He focused on his book rather than see John's response to that statement.

The response appeared to be silence, at least for a few minutes until John asked, "What do you think?"

Will glanced up as John ripped the last page off his pad and held up a perfectly respectable drawing of a chicken.

Damn. Now they needed paper, too.

~~~

"I need to go to town," Will announced.

At the table, John stiffened. "You just went last week."

"That was before you built a chicken coop with the wood I bought for winter repairs," Will said pointedly. Then, sweetening the deal, "We're also out of sugar and paper."

John sat still, very still, for several seconds, before reaching into the pocket of his coat and pulling out a thick roll of bills. He set the money down on the table without saying anything.

Will stared at the pile of notes. There had to be ten thousand dollars sitting right there in front of him. More money than Will could make in a decade, and John had just laid it out in the middle of the table as if it were nothing. "Why are you here?" Will finally asked, his voice hoarse. "You could go anywhere with that kind of money, anywhere you wanted to go."

"I told you why I was here," John said. "Not many towns where I can avoid my wanted poster."

"You could _buy_ a town with that kind of money," Will snapped back. 

John's eyes narrowed. "I've been in a bought town before," he growled, glaring at the money as if it had just insulted his mother.

Feeling a hint of fear for the first time since John had come back with a crateful of chickens, Will gritted his teeth and forced himself to ask, "Need anything besides paper?"

~~~

At the general store, Will tried to avoid Mrs. Potter's eye as he handed over his latest letter to Tommy and proceeded to order nearly three times his usual amount of sugar, a pad of paper, and a handful of books. He was studying the penny candy options when Mrs. Potter's patience apparently broke. "Have a guest?"

Will started. "Why do you ask that?"

"Why you're ordering so much more food than usual and the sugar and the books and –"

Will could barely believe what came out of his mouth next. "Molly used to make sugar cookies."

Mrs. Potter's eyes grew wide and limpid. "Oh, my dear boy."

Will tried very hard not to wince.

"And those sweets – I remember Thomas used to love the butterscotch the best." Without a word from Will, she proceeded to weigh out a dime's worth of candies into a paper cone. "No charge for these, dear."

"Thanks, Mrs. Potter," Will said, his heart in his throat. He sighed and added, "Would you happen to know anything about raising chickens?"

Apparently, Mrs. Potter had spread the word that Will was feeling nostalgic for the benefits of family life because by the time he left town, Will's wagon was creaking under the weight of pies, stews, cookies, fresh bread, and even a small cream cheese. He was going to have to make another trip to town just to return all of the dishes. He'd have to do it soon, too, if he didn't want to risk someone using a dish as an excuse to get sociable. Will didn't want to think about how John would react if a visitor showed up at the cabin door.

At dinner, Will gorged himself on stew and soft bread and John ate most of a pie all by himself. "I changed my mind about you going into town," John said, pushing back from the table and rubbing his belly. "You should go every week."

Will snorted. "Don't expect this every time. I had to explain why I was ordering so much more sugar than usual and... I might've used Molly's name." He felt his cheeks flush with shame. Molly deserved a damn sight better than to have her memory used to hide that Will was harboring an outlaw. And a killer. He had to remember that John was a killer, no matter how much Will... liked him.

Will sighed. Dammit, he _did_ like John. The man may be an outlaw and a thief and a killer, but he was also hard working, good company and surprisingly kind, even if his kindness seemed to be limited primarily to Will himself.

Maybe it was time to wipe the slate clean. Not to forget, never to forget, but maybe to put aside John's past, the past that had nothing to do with Will, and focus on the fact that John was Will's guest, that he was helping to fix up Will's ranch, that he shared Will's table, and, most of all, that he had promised Will to never kill again.

Except in self-defense. But you couldn't ask a man for more than that, could you?

_No_ , Will told himself firmly. _No, you couldn't_.

~~~

That night, Will had a nightmare. He'd had them on and off again after Molly died and then again after he'd nearly lost his leg, but it'd been over a year since his last one. They were even more disturbing than he'd remembered, though the details were hazy and quickly forgotten: nameless, formless figures covered in blood and death and misery.

John didn't say anything the next morning, but the way he kept staring at Will was a good sign that Will had been screaming in his sleep. It wouldn't have been the first time.

Nothing was said that day, however, and when Will woke up with a sore throat a couple of mornings later, nothing was said then either.

~~~

In the end, the decision of whether or not to take John to Bisbee was taken right out of Will's hands when one night at dinner John asked, "So, when do we take the cattle south?"

Will tried to stare John down, for all the good that did him, and in the end he sighed and gave in. "Monday."

"How long will it take?"

Will shrugged. "Four days if nothing goes wrong."

"So the auction's on Friday?"

"Saturday."

John nodded approvingly. "So we should be back Sunday."

Will hesitated. They could be back by Sunday, but... "Last year I stayed a couple of nights." And visited a whorehouse, not that John needed to know that. It had been the first time he'd lain with a woman since Molly's death and he'd been so desperate for human contact that his eyes had burned with tears when the whore had first touched him. If Molly really was looking down on the Earth from heaven, Will knew she'd be less than pleased with him if he went another two years without even a single night of comfort.

"Good idea," John said. "I could use a bath in a real tub."

A bath in a real tub. Will's breath caught in his throat. He hadn't allowed himself the luxury last time he was in town, opting to reserve his limited funds for more immediate needs.

As if reading Will's mind, John said, "I'll even treat you to a bath." He stood up and collected the dishes before adding, "Hell, maybe we can even share a whore or two."

Will's head shot up at that, but John was already busy doing up the washing up. For the sake of his own sanity, Will stood silently and fled the room before John had a chance to turn back around.

~~~

Of course, John couldn't go on a cattle drive without learning something about driving cattle, so the next day Will took him out to teach him the basics: herding cattle, which was not very difficult, as cows, when given a choice, naturally gathered together; moving cattle in a particular direction, which was much easier with two riders than one; and cutting individual animals from the herd, which Will hadn’t even had to do last year, as his entire herd had been purchased by one man.

Will wasn't particularly good at the latter – he was a good but not great rider and Brownie was a reliable and hardy, but not particularly agile, animal who was starting to show his age. John, on the other hand, proved to be a spectacular rider and his horse nothing short of magnificent. Animals deep within the herd were cut out with ease and even the fastest yearlings weren't able to edge their way around John's impenetrable defense.

Judging from John's smug smile as he rode up to Will, he recognized how well he had done. Will didn't see any need to feed man's rather excessive pride, so he merely grunted, "That's some horse."

John's smile faltered just a bit and Will found himself wishing he'd complimented him after all. Then the smug grin was back, even bigger than before. "I call her Old Faithful," he said, patting the mare's neck with open affection. "She's never let me down yet."

Wanting to make up for his previous comment, Will let his eyes run over the horse in admiration. "She's got good lines. Ever race her?"

"Once in a while. She's more quick than she is fast, though."

Will nodded, remembering how easily the mare had cut off yearlings that had run rings around Brownie.

"And she's loyal to the end," John added. "Ain't nothing more important in a horse than loyalty."

Will nodded again, though he was pretty sure they weren't just talking about horses anymore.

~~~

Monday dawned cold and clear and Will's leg ached as he pulled on his boots. The auction was a little later than usual this year and Will had a feeling nights were going to get colder than he was really happy with.

Still, he felt an unexpected thrill of anticipation as he made his way into the kitchen.

To find John cooking.

The anticipation turned into dread as Will surveyed the bowl of yellow slop and the pile of stale bread Will had planned to feed to the hogs before they left. "What's this?"

"It's the way Frenchies make toast," John said, dunking a slice of bread into the goop before dropping the resulting mess into the pan on the stove. Two more slices quickly followed. "I had it once in San Francisco and figured, how hard could it be?" 

Will smothered a wince.

John flipped the bread and let it cook a few seconds, then slid the slices onto the plate. "Here. They taste better with syrup."

John thought everything tasted better with syrup, Will thought sourly as he carried his plate to the table. He poured a very conservative measure of syrup on the pile and took a tentative bite.

He promptly took a much bigger one. "This is great!"

"Don't sound so surprised," John said dryly as moved his own serving onto a plate. The remaining contents of the bowl went into the pan and soon Will had a small pile of scrambled eggs to round out his breakfast.

He barely noticed, as he was steadily eating his way through his toast. "What did you say this was called again?"

"The guy in San Francisco called it French Toast." John doused his breakfast in syrup and took a bite with a blissful expression on his face.

"You should make it more often." Will finished off his food and carried the plates to the sink for John to wash. "Thanks. I'll get the horses ready."

"Take your time," John said through a mouthful of food.

Will shook his head and headed out to the barn.

~~~

They made fantastic time that day, half again what Will had managed the previous year despite having three times the number of animals to deal with. It wasn't just having a second horse and rider or that larger herds tended to stick close together. It wasn't even that John had a superior horse, as true as that was.

No, what made this drive run so smoothly was the eerie way that John always seemed to know exactly what the cattle were thinking. Twice during the day, John went galloping away from Will just in time to keep the cattle from turning away from the correct path. In both cases, he was able to explain his reasoning – a sudden dip in the trail and a snake that looked dangerous but wasn't – but Will couldn't help but be impressed. No wonder the man had managed to become one of the most famous outlaws of the day – John had eyes like an eagle and a brain that Will couldn't hope to keep up with. Frankly, Will was starting to feel just a bit outclassed.

Maybe that was why, after they'd eaten and settled in for the night, Will finally asked the question he'd been wondering about for weeks now, ever since John had showed up at his ranch and continued to not leave.

"Where are you from?"

From the other side of the fire, John shot Will a confused look and Will couldn't blame him. The question probably had seemed to come out of nowhere. "I told you, I came up from Mexico."

Will sighed. "No, where are you _from_? Where were you born?"

For a long time John just stared at Will through the flames, so long that when he finally spoke, Will was startled. "Arizona, I think. Maybe New Mexico."

Will frowned. He hadn't expected that. "You don't know?"

"Not for sure. My folks died when I was three. Don't remember anything before the orphanage."

Well, hell. This was starting to get deeper than Will really wanted to deal with. On the other hand, he had a sneaking suspicion that if he didn't take advantage of this opportunity, he might not get another one. "Where was the orphanage?"

John rolled over so that he was facing Will. "You sure you want to hear this? It gets ugly."

Will sighed in resignation. "Yeah. I think I should."

John nodded and sat up, resting back against his saddle as if settling in for a long speech. Will felt a sense of rising doom and opted to sit up as well, even though he'd just barely managed to get his leg comfortable for the night.

"The orphanage was in Tucson," John started. He wasn't looking at Will as he spoke, which Will found to be rather ominous. "I was there almost nine years before it burned down."

Will stifled a groan. He was already regretting this.

"The orphanage had been struggling for a long time before it burned, and the church decided not to build a new one. All of us were sent off to families looking for children. Only, in my case, they were looking for a servant." John smiled thinly. "I might've stayed anyway, if the old man hadn't started hitting me."

Christ. Will definitely didn't want to hear any more. But no matter how hard it was to listen to, he knew it had to be harder on John to tell, so he stayed silent and John went on.

"I stole the old man's horse and rode as hard and fast as I could. I was aiming for Tombstone, but overshot the mark and ended up in Juarez instead."

"That in Mexico?"

"It is. And it's also where I met Tanner Stone."

John sighed and slid down a bit, till his head was resting against his saddle. "I don't know why Stone took me in. It wasn't like him – I was half-dead and starving and even if I had potential, it wasn't likely I'd live long enough to prove anything. But take me in he did, and in return I sold my soul to the devil.

"I stayed with him for the next ten years, learning to shoot and ride and doing my best to strip out every bit of humanity I had left. Stone spent most of that time 'revenue collecting' – if shop owners gave us revenue, we wouldn't burn their shops down. It was a good way to make money and Stone grew very rich."

Will cleared his throat, which was getting thicker with every word of John's story. "What about you? Did you get rich, too?"

"Stone kept most of the money to himself but by the end I was his second in command, and I did well enough. Most of the gang would've made better money with honest work but once Stone got his claws in them, there was no way to escape. I think most of them only managed to avoid starving by extorting food along with protection money."

"Doesn't sound like a good way to run a gang."

"It wasn't." For the first time since he started his story, John looked over at Will. "I always split my takes evenly. I may not be a good man but at least I can say that no one loyal to me has ever starved."

Well, that was rather... pointed. Will cleared his throat again. "So what happened next?"

John turned his attention back out into the desert. "One day in Mexico, Stone and I nearly got caught. We got away but we were hurt bad. A monk took us in and patched us up." John took a deep breath. "When it was time to leave, Stone put a gun to my head and made me kill the monk."

Oh, God.

"I couldn't stay with him, not after that, so I gathered up all the money I'd saved up and snuck away in the middle of the night. 

"I set myself up near the border as a priest and used my money to open a church. Of course, I wasn't actually ordained, but I was doing some good and no one really cared whether I really had right to wear that white collar."

Will tried to picture John as a priest. He couldn't.

Apparently oblivious to Will's bemusement, John continued, "I had nearly two years at that church before Stone's men found me." His voice, which had been mostly matter-of-fact up to that point, suddenly grew hoarse. "They killed everyone inside, mostly children, and burned the church to the ground. I was the only survivor.

"Stone's men dragged me back to a small town in Arizona that Stone had owned before I'd ever met him." John's voice suddenly grew hard. "He tried to force me back into his gang, tried to break me, but in the end I was stronger than he was. Stone got what he deserved and I got a silver star."

Will started. "You were a lawman?" This conversation was starting to sound positively surreal.

The tension in the air eased just a bit as John chuckled. "I was, for a little over five years. Happiest time of my life, until..."

"Until?"

John just shook his head. "Until the railroad came. My town was the highest point in a flood plain, you see, and set right near a mountain pass. If the railroad couldn't go through us, they'd've had to swing twenty-five miles south and dynamite their way through a mountain. Even if they bought out every business in town at inflated prices, it was still cheaper than going around.

"Only problem was, we weren't interested in selling. Men had died getting that town free of Stone and we were just starting to get prosperous again. No one wanted to leave just so some fancy suits from back east could save a few thousand dollars. So we said no.

"The railroad agents came back with Pinkerton agents to back them up. We said that we still weren't interested and that the town wasn't for sale.

"Two weeks later, the entire town burned to the ground."

Will closed his eyes. "I'm sorry." 

John kept on going, as if now that he'd started this story, he was determined to finish it, no matter what. "That day, I swore that the railroad would pay for the lives they ruined and if any of those damn Pinkerton agents got in the way, I'd happily gun them down. I changed my name and headed west and soon hooked up with some men who were struggling just to eat. Less than a month later, we hit our first railroad stagecoach."

Will raised his eyebrows at 'changed my name', but lowered them again in a frown. "Are you saying that you only robbed railroad stages?"

"At first," John said. "But it was a slippery slope. We hit a coach that was supposed to have a railroad executive on board and instead found a gaggle of women. After all the trouble we went through, we couldn't not rob them. It all went downhill from there."

"You killed a lot of men," Will pointed out. "Not all of them worked for the Pinkertons, and most were probably family men."

"I know," John said. "And I'm not trying to make excuses. I'm damned, Will, and I've been damned since I killed my first man at fourteen. Nothing I do can ever repay the debt I owe the devil. All I can do is try and not make that debt any worse."

Will thought about that, about a boy without options, about two attempts at redemption, both ending in flames. He thought about what vengeance could do to a man and about how hard it was to break that cycle alone. He thought about John's promise not to kill, except in self-defense, and about what he could do to make that promise easier to keep.

"Hey, John," he said.

John snapped his head around to stare at Will through the fire. "Yeah?"

"I'm thinking we should put in a cellar when we get back. To store the eggs we'll be getting from all those chickens." A man-sized cellar, Will added to himself. Just in case anyone in town did get it into their head to give Will a visit.

After a moment, John grinned. An honest-to-goodness, completely sincere grin. "That, Will, is an excellent idea." He pushed himself up until he was sitting. "Get some sleep. I'll take first watch."

Will raised his eyebrows at the fact that they were doing watches, but turned over without comment. That night he slept like a baby, knowing that John was right there watching his back.


	4. Chapter 4

Not wanting to arrive too early in Bisbee, they took their time after that and ended up just outside of town Friday morning. At which point, Will realized something that he should've realized much earlier: "You can't go into town."

John shrugged. "Let me worry about that. You just get a room at the saloon." He pulled out a few dollars. "Make sure that the room has a tub and that you won't be expected to share."

Will eyed the money with distaste. "I don't need you to pay for my room."

"I hate to break this to you, but it's going to be my room, too."

Will stared. He should've realized that, too. "I'll keep the window open. This late in the year, it'll probably be the only one that is."

John smiled, just a bit. "Thank you, Will. And don't forget, I promised you a bath."

"What about yours?"

"I can have one tomorrow."

Will looked over incredulously. "Two baths in two days?"

John considered that, and sighed. "You're right. I guess I'll just have to share yours." Will glared at him. "Order it at sundown -- I should get to your room just as you finish."

Will just shook his head. "You got a place to hide around here?"

"Don't worry," John said with a smile. "I've got plenty of practice."

"Yeah, well," Will muttered under his breath as he trotted towards the cattle. " _I_ caught you."

Apparently John didn't hear, because he didn't reply.

~~~

Even a mere mile of driving thirty cattle with just one horse was a pain in the ass and Will received some ribbing from a group of local cowboys as several animals balked at entering the chute. He gritted his teeth and ignored the jeers as he rounded up the stragglers, but he was heartily glad when he got that last steer behind the gate and he was free to make his way to the saloon.

The last time he'd been in town, Will had stayed at the hotel. Frankly, he'd never been much of a drinker, especially after he'd married Molly, and it was damn awkward to walk into a saloon and not ask for a whisky. John had specified a saloon room, however, and since he was paying, he got to make the decision.

After an obligatory drink that Will barely managed to choke down, he made his way upstairs. The lock was rusty and it took a bit to make the key work, but once Will got the door open he was pleasantly surprised by what he found: the room was airy and clean and the bed large enough that he and John could share without even touching, which was more than Will could say about the bed in the hotel, which he'd ended up sharing with a complete stranger who'd paid a dollar for the other half of the bed. Tucked away in a corner was a galvanized tin bathtub and next to it sat a small brazier where a kettle of water could be kept boiling. 

Will tossed his saddlebags on the bed and began to strip down. He might not be able to get a bath until that night but he could wash off the dust of four days on the trail.

As he rubbed wet hands over his face, he felt his beard soaking up most of the water and he eyed himself thoughtfully in the small shaving mirror. When he and Molly had first been married, he'd shaved twice a day in deference to Molly's distaste for beard burn in delicate places. By the time they'd moved out west, he'd only had need to shave once every few days, though Tommy had learned quickly that a day after his father shaved was a great day to ask for treats.

Will couldn't remember the last time he shaved. When his beard got too long, he hacked off chunks of it but he hadn't bothered with a close shave in months. Maybe even years. 

John shaved nearly every day. Even on the trail.

Will rubbed his cheeks one more time then went digging through his saddlebags.

~~~

The rest of the day passed surprisingly quickly. Will ate at the restaurant, then picked up food from the general store for when John showed up. He glanced at the whorehouse, but turned around without going in. Instead, he went back to the general store and perused their drawing paper and books. The store in Bisbee had a much better selection than the one back home, and he had to stop himself from buying more volumes than he could fit in his saddlebags. 

He spent the afternoon lost in a book about a Yankee who was magically transported into the time of King Arthur. The story was completely captivating and Will was so caught up in his reading that he didn't remember he was supposed to have ordered a bath until he heard the sound of a throat clearing just beside the window.

Will looked up guiltily. "Hi."

John raised an eyebrow. "Good book?"

"Yep."

They stared at each other for a moment. "No bath?" John finally asked.

Will winced. "Lost track of time."

"Shaved, though."

Will flushed and closed his book. "Want me to order a bath now?"

John looked around the room with its decided lack of hiding spaces. "Nah, we can do it tomorrow." He took his hat off and rubbed his hair before moving towards the water bowl. "Auction is tomorrow morning, right?"

"Yeah." Will absently watched John washing up until he suddenly realized that he was staring. "Uh, I got you some food."

John snagged the hand towel and dried his face. Will handed over the fruit and jerky. John thanked him, but by the way he nibbled at the food, he'd already eaten.

For the first time in a while, their silence was awkward.

It was broken by a knock at the door. Will jumped up from the bed, automatically reaching for his gun. "It's all right," John said, moving towards the door, though Will noticed that he positioned himself so that he wouldn't be visible from the hallway. "Remember, I promised you something other than a bath."

Will felt a rising sense of doom that was not relieved in the slightest when the door was opened to reveal a woman. A robust, buxom, blonde woman, to be exact, wearing rather less clothing than was generally considered polite. "You must be Will," she said with a smile as she walked in without waiting for a word of welcome.

John closed the door and smirked. "Good to see you again, Roberta."

She smirked right back and started unlacing her dress. Will winced and looked away. "Gotta say, I was surprised to hear from you, John. It's been awhile."

"Been busy," John said in response. He was undressing too, and Will was quickly running out of safe places to keep his eyes.

"Not around here," she said, dropping her dress and turning so that John could start on the laces of her corset. "Stage hasn't been robbed in ages."

"Haven't been robbing stages." John's hands moved over the laces with practiced movements and Will found himself not quite able to look away from those clever, graceful fingers. "Been raising chickens."

Roberta snorted. It wasn't very lady-like, but Will had come to the conclusion that she wasn't much of a lady. Most of that conclusion was based on the fact that she was now wearing little more than pantaloons without drawers underneath. A tiny portion of Will's brain noted that Roberta was blonde all over.

Will was so distracted by Roberta he didn't even notice that John had managed to get down to his union suit until an amused voice interrupted his gaping: "You just gonna watch?"

Will felt his face burn and he immediately started to unbutton his shirt. His hands were shaking, though, and his fingers kept fumbling over the buttons. He was barely halfway done when John's patience apparently ran out and he came over to help. Will was so surprised that he didn't even protest as the other man deftly flicked open the buttons of his shirt

When John reached for his trousers, however, Will quickly recovered his voice. "I got it," he said, stepping back so quickly his leg protested and – trying very hard not to notice the way Roberta and John were both staring at him – opened the buttons of his fly. He kept his head down as he shoved off his pants and dropped them on top of his discarded boots. After a second he decided to keep the embarrassment as short as possible and stripped off his union suit as well.

He glanced up to see Roberta and John were still staring at him, though both were naked now and John was standing behind Roberta, his arms wrapped around her as he cupped her breasts. "What do you think? Looks good enough to eat, doesn't she?" He lifted one breast a little higher and Will realized what he wanted.

Well, hell, it was what she was here for. Will stepped forward and lowered his mouth to Roberta's nipple.

The skin was soft and satiny, until it suddenly tightened up as Roberta moaned. Will glanced down to see that John had a hand between her legs. "You like that, Roberta?" John murmured, though his eyes were locked with Will's.

"You know I do," she said breathily, then moaned again as John's hand began to move, rocking back and forth just a bit. Just enough. "Maybe we should move this to the bed."

Will liked the sound of that plan and stumbled backwards until he could sit on the bed. He slid over for Roberta, his bad leg trailing after him, and then had to slide over some more as John climbed in on the other side. That threw him off for a minute, but Roberta drew his head down to her breasts again and her free hand grasped his cock and all rational thought departed from his mind.

"I wanna be inside you," he croaked, half-afraid that if he waited any longer he'd spend himself too soon.

Roberta glanced over at John, who was stroking himself casually, then looked at Will's bad leg. "Tell you what, honey. Why don't you just lie there on your back and let me do all the work."

Will wanted to protest that he hadn't had to lie there and take it with the whore last year, but a flash of movement at the corner of his eye reminded him that John was still in the bed. Will subsided. Truth be told, it'd been damned awkward last year, and he wasn't sure he wanted John to see Will fumbling about until he found the right angle that let him thrust without his bad leg buckling out from under him.

Roberta held his prick up and slid down on it with an ease that spoke volumes about how popular she was with the local men. Will closed his eyes and gritted his teeth and tried not to come too quickly. Who knew when he'd have the chance to do this again?

Suddenly, the angle changed and Will opened his eyes to see Roberta balanced precariously over him, her head so close that sour breath washed over his face. She winced. "I didn't come prepared for that, John."

Will refocused his eyes to see John kneeling behind Roberta, one hand on her back. John pushed down harder, till Roberta was lying right on top of Will, her breasts flattened against his chest. "How about this, then?" he asked, and suddenly Will felt fingers sliding up next to his prick inside Roberta.

Roberta's eyes, so close to his own they were fuzzy, opened wide. Will was sure his were even wider. "Sure," she said, ignoring Will's incredulous expression. "That'd be fine."

A moment later something thick and wet nudged the base of Will's cock and then proceeded to force its way up into Roberta, turning a relatively loose space into an incredibly tight one.

Roberta grunted. So did Will.

After a moment, however, the tightness eased just a bit. Just enough for everything to be on the right side of bearable as John began thrusting, pushing his way up into the woman and rubbing the underside of Will's cock at the same time, setting off sparks deep in Will's body that built up into a warm pressure in his balls. Roberta dropped even lower, till her face was resting on the pillow beside Will's, her head bobbing forward with each thrust. Her hair fell across Will's face and made Will feel safe enough to stare at John through the soft, honey-gold strands. 

John's face was tightened in concentration as he pistoned forward with increasingly powerful thrusts, sweat rising up on his brow and dampening his hair. As Will watched, surprisingly white teeth caught John's lower lip and John's breathing sped up, somehow causing Will's to speed up as well. Will could feel the back of John's fingers flexing against his pelvis as the other man tightened his grip on Roberta's hips and suddenly the thrusting became jerky and erratic. John froze and let out a long, low moan and Will felt something hot and fluid seeping around his cock and that was all it took: Will felt his own prick spilling forth, filling up Roberta's over-stuffed cunt with his seed.

John collapsed forward, carrying Roberta with him and Will grunted again, this time most definitely not in pleasure. "Can't breathe," he forced out.

There was a quick shuffle in which John somehow ended up next to Will and Roberta ended up standing up beside the bed. "You boys finished for the night?" she asked while making practical use of a handkerchief.

John glanced at Will with his eyebrow raised. Will considered the chances of him staying awake long enough to take another poke at Roberta and shook his head.

"I think we're done," John said. He got out of the bed as well and walked over to his pants without a hint of self-consciousness. Will, on the other hand, was suddenly intensely aware of the ugly scar that marked his damaged leg and tried to sneak some covers over it without anyone noticing.

"You coming over tomorrow?" John asked casually, and Will's eyes snapped over to see John hand over a few bills. In the back of his mind, he wondered just how much it cost to stick two pricks in a woman at the same time – it looked to be considerably more than the dollar per poke he'd paid the year before.

"Fraid not," Roberta said, holding her corset up to her body while John laced it up efficiently. "It'll be Suzie, most likely."

"Hold on." John pulled the laces tight with a powerful jerk and quickly tied them off. He handed Roberta her dress. "Tell Suzie to come prepared."

"I will," Roberta said swiftly putting together the rest of her clothes. "Should've thought of it myself." 

"It's been a while." John straightened the cheap-looking lace on her collar and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thank you."

Roberta shook her head. "You have a good night, John." With a quick glance at the bed, she added, "You, too, Will."

Will didn't even have a chance to reply before she'd slipped out the door and was gone.

John locked the door and returned to the bed, not bothering to put on any clothes. Will considered the difficulty of getting out of the bed with his bad leg and finding clothes, just to get back in the bed, and decided that one night of sleeping naked wouldn't kill him.

Once they'd settled themselves under the covers, Will asked, "Tomorrow?"

"I owe you a bath, don't I?" John asked, his eyes already half-closed and his voice a little less firm than usual.

Will considered that. "Maybe I should pay for the bath."

"If you want," John said drowsily.

Well, that was easy. Maybe he should sneak in another question, see if he could get that answered as well. "Prepared for what?"

"Hm?" John murmured, his eyes fully closed now and his breath deepening.

"You said Suzie should be prepared. Prepared for what?"

John just mumbled and twisted over on his side, clearly asleep.

Will huffed out a sigh. Guess he was just going to have to wait till tomorrow and find out.


	5. Chapter 5

The next day was the auction and Will got up at the crack of dawn to go check on his cattle. They looked settled and fat and he felt a hint of anticipation at the coming bidding. He'd been lucky last year to get twenty dollars a head, but this year he wouldn't be surprised if he managed twenty-two or even twenty-five. Even if he just got twenty again, he'd have six hundred dollars in his pocket when he left. That was enough to support both himself and John for an entire year with ease and still have enough left over to hire some hands for the branding in the spring.

He suddenly stopped in his tracks as he realized what had just passed through his mind. Support him _and_ _John_ for an entire year? Will had known that John would likely be around through the winter but he'd always thought that come spring, John would get tired of his chickens and the drafty house and would take his ten thousand dollars and find a town that hadn't heard of him before. There had to be one somewhere in the country, maybe east of the Mississippi, where the cities were so crowded that it would be easy for one man to lose himself in the masses.

Yet at some point, Will had stopped thinking that John would leave. Instead of a temporary guest, John had somehow become part of the household in Will's mind; someone that he should plan around and could plan on, someone who would still be there a year from now and maybe even the year after.

If Will were honest with himself, the idea of John staying on permanently was not an unpleasant one. He was a hard worker, an intelligent companion, and someone Will could be comfortable with even in silence. Not to mention exceedingly creative in bed.

Not that that had anything to do with anything.

Fortunately, the restaurant owner chose that moment to open his doors. Will was the first one in and placed an order to take away to the saloon. Thankfully, cowboys had a notoriously large appetite, and no one commented on the fact that he needed two plates to hold all of the food he'd ordered.

John was still abed when Will slipped back into the room and Will debated letting the man sleep. The food was quickly getting cold, however, and Will found himself unwilling to eat alone if there was another option. "John," he said, kicking the bed. "Anderson, it's time to get up."

John opened one eye. "I like it when you call me John."

Will rolled his eyes. " _John_. Time for breakfast."

He sat up quickly. "God, I'm starved."

"Get started then," Will said, placing the tray on the bed. He dug in the saddlebags for a spare fork and moved back to the bed, just in time to snatch the last piece of sausage.

Between the two of them they managed to clear the plates, Will claiming the bacon and ham, John content with the eggs, beans, and biscuit. Will was still a bit hungry at the end but there were usually food vendors at the auction. "Had enough?"

"Yep," John said and he stretched back out on the bed and went back to sleep.

Will shook his head and gathered up the restaurant's gear and went back outside.

It wasn't until he had dropped off the cutlery and was halfway to the auction that he realized that John had still been naked as they ate breakfast in bed.

~~~

Thirty dollars a head. Thirty dollars a head! That was nine hundred dollars! Will felt like whooping, but he forced himself to keep a straight face as he accepted the check. It'd take weeks for him to actually get the money, but just knowing that he had enough money to cover two years of expenses coming his way was enough to make him feel like he was king of the world.

His first stop on the way back to the restaurant was the store to pick up some paper so he could write Tommy with the good news and to buy some more penny candies. Then he went to the saloon to buy the best bottle of alcohol they had. He wanted to share the wealth.

~~~

The next time Will entered the room, once again carrying food, he was whistling. John was still in bed, but at least he was awake and dressed. He was also engrossed in Will's new book. "This Twain fellow is a pretty good writer," John commented, without looking up.

Will snorted and set down the food and the bottle of bourbon. "Brought lunch."

John looked up with interest. "What is it?"

"Sandwiches and French potatoes."

John immediately moved down to the end of the bed and grabbed a potato. "Gotta admit, those Frenchies know how to cook." As he ate, his eyes settled on the bourbon and he shot Will a confused look. "Thought you didn't drink."

Will grabbed his book and placed it outside of John's reach, then took a ham sandwich, heavily spread with prepared mustard. He could only afford to slaughter one of his pigs a year so the sandwich was a real treat. "Molly didn't like me drinking. Besides, good alcohol is expensive. Couldn't afford it before."

"And now you can?" John asked.

Will grinned and told him about the auction. By the time he was done, John had eaten all of the potatoes. Will shook his head and took the last ham sandwich in retaliation as John dug two mugs out of the saddlebags and poured them both a celebratory drink. John's expression as he took that first sip of alcohol was nearly as satisfied as it had been when eating one of Molly's freshly baked cookies.

They spent the afternoon in peaceful quiet, Will writing his letter to Tommy and then reading his book, and John drawing and sucking on penny candies. Will went back out for dinner and came back with a pie fresh out of the oven, and for once got to eat most of his meal himself.

It was a couple of hours after dark when Suzie came. Again, John was the one to open the door, this time to reveal a small, dark-haired girl with hunched shoulders. She stared at the floor as she shuffled into the room; she couldn't be more than fourteen. Will felt vaguely ill.

John shut the door and stepped around to look at Suzie from the front. "You must be Suzie," he said. She nodded ever so slightly. "You might want to stop acting," John added. "You're making Will uncomfortable."

Suzie nodded again and straightened her shoulders. As she lifted her head, Will sighed in relief. It was clear now that she was at least eighteen, and she met his gaze with confident eyes. "You prepared?"

Suzie nodded again. "She told me to tell you it's my first time."

"I'll be careful." John looked over at the bed. "Will, you wanna get undressed?"

Apparently, John had a plan and Will, a lot less uncomfortable after the night before, hauled himself out of bed and stripped as quickly as he could. When he was down to his union suit, he glanced over at John. "Take it off," John ordered, so Will stripped down to nothing.

"Move back against the headboard," John said as soon as Will was naked and Will did so while John and Suzie stripped without drama. Suzie reached back to untie her corset but at a word from John, she let her hands fall back to her sides. It was strangely arousing to see a woman wearing a corset and nothing else, but Will found his eyes drawn back to John. He forced himself to look at the covers instead.

"Kneel on the bed," John said to Suzie. "Take him into your mouth."

Moving gracefully and without any self-consciousness, Suzie did as commanded. Will gasped as her hot mouth engulfed his cock and started sucking.

John knelt on the foot of the bed, behind Suzie. Her rump was higher up than her head, right where it needed to be as John grasped her hips, positioned his prick, and started pushing in. 

Suzie moaned softly around Will's prick, her hands fisting the sheets as her elbows took her weight. Will couldn't help but stare over her back, to where John was thrusting slowly at a point just a little higher than Suzie's pussy could possibly be. The rhythm was a strange one: John would thrust a tiny bit in, then wait to a count of three, then thrust again, each one short and sharp. Suzie gasped each time and had given up all pretence of sucking him: her mouth held his cock loosely, doing little more than keeping it warm.

Finally John was all the way in and he stopped, maybe to let Suzie get used to him. "All right?" John asked. Suzie nodded as well as she could considering her mouthful, but John's eyes were locked on Will.

"Yeah," Will said hoarsely. Now that he'd finally met John's eyes, he couldn't look away and he was still staring as John began thrusting in and out, in and out, each smooth movement pushing Suzie's mouth down on Will's cock, his eyes locked on Will's the entire time. It was almost as if Suzie weren't there at all, as if she were just an extension of John's body, and Will felt a startling jolt of pleasure at the thought.

"You like that?" John whispered as he sped up, bobbing Suzie's head on Will's cock.

Will groaned. "Yeah," he said hoarsely, tearing his eyes away from John so he could focus more fully on the delicious heat running through his loins. "That feels real good."

"Suzie, honey," John said. "I need you to start sucking now. Give it all you've got."

On command, the suction surrounding Will's cock increased tenfold and Will closed his eyes tight to savor the sensation. He could still feel the back and forth movement of Suzie's body heightening the feeling to almost unbearable levels.

Suddenly he felt a hand fisting his hair and his eyes shot open. "Don't close your eyes," John whispered intensely, still plunging over and over into Suzie's body. "Don't shut me out." Without another word, he leaned forward that last few inches to claim Will's mouth in a fierce kiss. 

Will moaned and his body arched up as his seed spilled forth, filling Suzie's mouth and dripping down his balls. John grunted and thrust a couple more times, then froze, his body tight against Suzie's ass, his eyes shut tight, his forehead pressing against Will's.

John let out one long, low groan, then pulled out of Suzie's body with a gentleness that surprised Will. Suzie hissed, but she didn't seem seriously hurt and when she shifted back to rest on her heels, she smiled up at Will. "That was different."

"You must be very popular," John said with a smile, though Will noticed he didn't waste any time getting up and counting out a stack of bills. It was a larger stack than the one he'd given Roberta. "I'll be sure to ask for you next time."

"Thanks," she said as she took care of the necessities of cleaning up and hurried through her dressing. She didn't bother to lace her boots and she didn't touch John at all as she took the money and left.

After the door shut, Will didn't know where to look and end up focusing on his legs. With a scowl, he pulled the blanket over the lower half of the body.

"We never did get that bath," John said.

Out of the corner of his eye, Will could see that John was staring out of the window as he spoke. Will kept his eyes on the misshapen hump that was once his leg. "We're leaving tomorrow."

A pause. "It'd be strange that you asked for a room with a tub and never actually took a bath."

Another pause. "Can't get one with you in the room."

"I could disappear for a while," John offered. Abruptly he turned to look Will in the eye. "Just till the water comes."

Will took a deep breath and forced himself to look up. "Be about an hour if I order it now."

John nodded and grabbed his clothes. He dressed himself with the same brisk movements that he'd applied to taking his clothes off and moved to the window. "I'll be back in an hour," he said and then disappeared into the night.

Will sighed and leaned over the side of the bed, reaching for his clothes and doing everything he could to ignore the strange tingle in his lips. He was mostly successful, mainly due to the way he couldn't stop thinking about dark eyes boring into his or a harsh whisper spoken right at his ear.

An hour later, he was standing next to a tub half full of steaming water, unsure of what to do next. Should he wait for John? Why would he wait for John? Did he want John to be there when he bathed?

It was enough to drive a man crazy. Will swore under his breath and started unbuttoning his shirt. He'd paid for this bath, damn it, and he'd be damned if he let it go cold while waiting for John.

Getting into the bath was a challenge with only one good leg and in the end he pretty much fell in, splashing the water high up the sides of the galvanized tin tub. Once inside, he let himself enjoy the heat for a couple of minutes then, working fast, scrubbed down his body, and used the chunk of soap to wash his hair. Getting it rinsed was an adventure, and he damn near pulled a muscle trying to move around in the tiny tub, but finally he was done. And faced with the prospect of getting himself out of the tub with only one good leg to his name.

What the hell had he been thinking, getting into this bath by himself?

Will gritted his teeth and got a good grip on the sides of the tub. He pushed himself up as much as he could, which wasn't but a few inches, and tried to work his good leg up underneath him. His arms gave out before he got close and, with a grunt, he fell back in. He narrowed his eyes and wondered if he could just manage to tip the damn tub over.

"Need help?"

Will's head snapped up and while he made sure his face remained blank, he couldn't hide the relief from himself. "Wouldn't say no to it."

John nodded and stepped forward from the window. He held out both hands; Will took them and tried to pull himself out, only to have his foot slip and his body fall right back in. John frowned. "I'm going to have to lift you up out of there."

Will swore to himself that if he got out of this tub, he was never taking a bath again. "How do you plan on doing that?"

"Lift your arms up." Will scowled, but did as ordered. John wrapped his own arms under Will's, just under his armpits. "Now wrap your arms around my neck." Will huffed, but did it.

Moving with careful deliberateness, John stood up and took a step backwards. As soon as Will's good leg was under him, he did his best to help but in the end, John basically dragged him out of the tub, scraping Will's shins painfully in the process.

John didn't let go right away, which was how Will found himself, fully naked, standing in John's arms. He wasn't sure how to feel about that.

For a moment or two, they just stared at each other, though Will found himself unable to look John in the eye. Finally, Will cleared his throat. "Water's getting cold."

John blinked all of a sudden and nodded. "Careful now. I'm going to back you up to the bed." Before Will could protest that he didn't need help getting to the bed, John matched deed with words and, with a minimum of fuss, Will found himself sinking into the soft mattress.

He promptly started to get up again to grab his clothes but he heard John say, "Going somewhere?"

Will frowned. "Wasn't planning on it."

"Then why bother with clothing?"

The man did have a point. Especially considering he and John had slept together naked before.

Will sat back down on the bed and grabbed the towel. Once he was basically dry, he used his hands to scoot up the bed until he was resting back against the headboard. Making a conscious effort not to look at John, he picked up his book from the nightstand, turned up the lamp, and did his best to get lost in the story. With great effort, he managed most of a paragraph though it took the entire length of John's bath to do so. 

Will sighed and set the book on the nightstand. At least it'd been a long paragraph.

John used Will's towel and tossed it in the corner of the room. Without a shred of discomfort, he walked around the bed and Will caught a glimpse of John's swinging prick before he slid under the covers. 

Will reached out and turned off the lamp. For a few moments they lay there silently in the dark.

"We're leaving tomorrow," Will finally pointed out.

"I know," John said. "I'll be gone before first light. We can meet where we camped Friday night."

Will nodded and flipped over on his side. "Night, John."

"Good night," John said softly in reply.

~~~

Will woke up the next morning feeling amazingly well-rested. He also woke up alone. He wasn't disappointed by that fact. He wasn't.

After the bath the previous night, he didn't bother with a full washing up, but he did give himself a shave. It felt good to go through the ritual of sharpening his blade, of whipping up the foam, of carefully scraping away the stubbly whiskers that had come up since the last shave, of washing his face clean and checking to make sure he hadn't missed any patches. It felt satisfying. Civilizing.

Shave done, he dressed and packed up quickly. He was ready to go home.

John was waiting at the campsite, as promised. "Finally. I've been –"

"Think we can make it by tonight?" Will interrupted. 

John stared at him. "Awful eager there, Will."

"I'm just ready to be home," Will said gruffly.

"It's only thirty miles," John said thoughtfully. "Old Faithful can do that in eight hours as long as I keep her in oats and sugar cubes."

Will shook his head. Even John's horse had a sweet tooth. "Brownie won't make that. He's not used to speed."

"Then we go slow and keep the breaks short," John said. "We should still get back before dark."

Will glanced back over his shoulder where a few wisps of smoke marked Bisbee. "Let's get going, then," he said. He didn't look back again.


	6. Chapter 6

It was a little after dark before they actually arrived at the cabin, and Will was starving. That made him doubly grateful when John took Brownie's reins and announced, "I'll take care of the animals. You get started on dinner."

Even though they'd only been gone a week, a visible layer of dust had accumulated over everything in the house. Will carefully wiped out a pot and filled it with beans and water and lit a fire in the stove. Once dinner was started, he went through the house with a rag and dusted everything with a solid surface.

"One of the hens is brooding," John announced as he walked in. 

Will stuck his head out from his bedroom. "What's that mean?"

"It means half as many eggs for a few weeks, then a whole flock of chicks."

"How long till the chicks are old enough to eat?"

John shook his head. "You know, I'm starting to get the impression you aren't fond of chickens."

"I wonder why," Will said dryly. "How about the hogs? Did you check on them?"

"Hungry, but still alive. Next time you should use my long-term chicken feed system for them."

Will scowled. He had to admit that the long-term chicken feed system was an ingenious one – it involved a storage bin with a tiny hole at the bottom that let out just enough feed to replace what the chickens ate. That said, hogs weren't chickens. As soon as they figured out that the bin had more food in it, they'd knock the damn thing down and gorge themselves sick on the contents.

Of course, if he told John that, he'd just try and build one so tough the hogs couldn't break it, and Will really didn't want to have to go on another wood run until next year. So, rather than respond to John's comment, Will said, "Your sheets are filthy."

John raised his eyebrows, but didn't comment on the change of subject. "Haven't had much time to do laundry."

"I'm running out of clean drawers," Will admitted. "Maybe we can do laundry tomorrow."

"This late in the year, it'll take more than a day for them to dry," John said.

Will stared at him. "That something you learned at the orphanage?" 

John just shrugged, which Will took to mean that it was a touchy subject. "Then we'll just do half the laundry tomorrow and the rest next week."

"Do you have a spare set of sheets?" John asked. "Because it's getting a bit cold to be sleeping on the bare mattress."

Will suddenly found a very interesting speck on the wall. "We've shared a bed before. No reason why we can't do it again."

"Suppose not," John said casually. "Want me to put some salt pork in the beans?"

"I'll do it," Will answered, handing over the cloth. "You can finish dusting."

John looked less than thrilled at the task, but got to work without comment.

While the pork and beans simmered, Will put together some biscuits. As an afterthought, he mixed a bit of sugar and cinnamon into a portion of butter and set it on John's side of the table. Molly used to do the same as a treat for Tommy, though Will would shoot himself in his good foot before he'd tell that to John.

By the time the food was ready, the house was markedly cleaner: the floor was swept, the furniture dusted, the sheets shaken out, and the dirty water poured out and replaced with fresh. Will couldn't help but compare this to his return last year, when he'd gnawed on a bit of dried beef and gone to bed without even washing the trail dust off his face.

As expected, John was delighted with the sweetened butter, and he gave the pork 'n beans far more praise than such a homely dish deserved. Will relaxed into the meal, enough so that he could ask a question he'd been wondering about since the previous night. "That girl, Suzie..."

"What about her?" John asked around a mouthful of heavily buttered biscuit.

"Why'd she act like she was so young when she first came in? I thought she couldn't be more than fourteen."

John chewed his mouthful slowly, staring at Will. "You know the answer to that," he finally said after he swallowed.

"But there can't be that many men who want sex with children," Will protested. "Can there?"

"I expect such men are Suzie's bread and butter," John answered, taking another bite.

Will felt ill and it must've shown on his face, because John's next words were spoken in a softer tone. "The world ain't always a good place, Will, but it's not all bad either. At least those men are going to Suzie, rather than to a girl who doesn't know what she's getting into."

"Suzie was fourteen once," Will said.

"I expect she was."

Will looked John in the eye. "Known Suzie long?"

"Never met her before yesterday," John said easily. "I like my women older."

"So why'd Roberta send Suzie to you?"

"I expect it's because Suzie's willing to be flexible to satisfy a man." John bit into a biscuit and chewed it deliberately. "It's not many women who'll let a man put his prick up her back end, now matter how well he pays."

"I can't imagine why any of them would," Will said. "It doesn't seem like it'd be very pleasant."

John stared at him incredulously. "For most whores – hell, most women – there ain't nothing pleasant about taking a cock, no matter where it goes."

Will frowned a bit, thinking back to his relations with Molly. She had enjoyed them, he was sure that she had. If she hadn't, Will knew he would've heard about it; Molly wasn't the type of woman to suffer in silence.

In an off-handed manner that somehow sounded forced, John added, "Of course, it's different for men."

Will's eyebrows shot up. "What?"

"Men," John said. "It's different for men. There's something inside a man that a woman doesn't have. Makes it enjoyable to have something up there."

Will stared at the man like he'd completely lost his mind, which probably wasn't so far from the truth. "And I suppose you know this from experience," he said dryly.

"I've done it a few times," John said, still with that tone of airy casualness. "More often the other way."

Will was outright gaping now. "You ain't no Mary."

John shrugged. "Ain't always a woman around." His eyes stayed on his plate as he added, "Stone's gang was all male."

Will stared at him some more. "And Stone?"

"Didn't keep me around for my shooting," John said flatly, all pretence at affability or eating gone. "Is this going to be a problem?"

"No," Will said quickly. "Just it's been a long day and I'm tired."

John stared at him a bit longer, then shrugged. "Guess you should go to bed then."

Will nodded and fled.

That night he had nightmares.

~~~

The next day started out awkwardly. John made French toast, which Will figured was his attempt at an apology and he apologized in turn by marking out where the trapdoor to the cellar would go, so that it could be conveniently hidden by a rag rug.

Laundry was a disaster. John clearly knew what he was doing but he equally clearly had no intention of doing all of the work himself, and Will managed to do everything wrong short of upending the actual laundry tub. "How about I just haul water next time?" he grunted as wrestled with the wringer that John had worked with ease.

"Hauling water's easy," John said, rescuing the wringer before Will snapped the handle.

"Haul water, heat it, and hang up the clothes after?" Will offered hopefully.

John snorted. "You'd probably drop them."

Will had to admit that he probably would. He picked up another handful of dripping fabric and lined it up with the rollers on the wringer. One turn of the handle and they were immediately stuck. He sighed. "Okay, what do you want?"

There was an awkward pause.

"A cake," John finally said.

Will let out a relieved breath. "A cake?"

"A _fruit_ cake," John clarified. "With nuts."

Will thought about that. "Chestnuts?" he asked hopefully.

"Pecans."

Will shot him a mock scowl. "Are you trying to be difficult?"

"If you absolutely can't find pecans, I'll take walnuts," John said with the air of one granting a favor. "Go make dinner. I'll finish this up."

A little wary now, Will went back inside. After a moment of consideration, he pulled out the flour, baking powder, and evaporated milk and mixed up some pancake batter. Not that he needed to apologize anymore, but a thank you probably wouldn't go amiss.

After dinner, they silently went to their respective diversions. Will was nearly halfway through _A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's_ _Court_ and was happy to get the opportunity to read a couple more chapters, while John was drawing something that looked suspiciously like plans for a long-term hog feeder. Will decided to go with the hope that if he ignored the plans long enough, they might just go away.

They couldn't burn candlelight forever, though, no matter how much Will wished it were so, and finally John closed his sketchbook. "I'm turning in."

Will nodded, not looking up from his book. "Night."

There was a long pause before John answered, "Good night."

His eyes focused on his book, but without seeing a word, Will listened to John's footsteps leave. In the direction of Tommy's room. 

Will sighed in relief, even as he fought a twinge of guilt at the idea of John sleeping all alone on a bed without sheets.

~~~

"I'm going to town."

John paused as he tested the sheets for dryness, but after a moment he started moving again as if nothing had happened. "More wood?"

"Yes –" just in case that hog feeder idea didn't go away "– and some pecans." John smiled at that, which Will found strangely satisfying though he didn't want to look too closely at why. "Need anything?"

"See if Mrs. Potter has any more of those peaches," John said immediately. Will hid a smile. John added, "My money –"

"Don't worry about it," Will said. "I can buy you some peaches."

"--is in the jar," John continued, as if Will hadn't even spoken.

"In the jar," Will repeated numbly. "In _my_ jar?"

"In the _household_ jar," John corrected.

Will just blinked. Ten thousand dollars. Give or take twenty, there was currently ten thousand dollars in his money jar. "John, you really don't have to do that."

"You don't need to tell me what I do and don't have to do," John said. Will started to answer, but John was already walking away. "Don't forget the peaches," he called over his shoulder.

"Trust me, I won't," Will muttered.

~~~

Mrs. Potter was delighted to sell Will several jars of peaches, as well as coffee, flour, sugar, oats, tinned soup, beans, cornmeal, candied fruits, walnuts, baking powder, and lemon drops (John's favorite). Seeing as she was already looking at the candied fruits with a speculative eye, Will put on his best smile and asked, "Mrs. Potter, I was wondering if I could ask you a favor."

"Of course," she said brightly. 

"I've been wanting to make a cake," Will started. 

"Met someone special, have you?" Mrs. Potter asked with bright eyes. She smiled conspiratorially. "Take it from me, dear, let her do the baking. She'll want to impress you."

Will winced and he said hastily, "Actually it's for my birthday. Do you have a recipe for a fruitcake?"

She looked a little disappointed, but quickly brightened again. "What you're needing is the Boston Cooking School Cook Book. There are a couple of them over on the book shelf."

Will immediately headed over and perused the shelf. Not only did he find the promised cookbook, he also found another Twain book called _Roughing It_ and a book by Nellie Bly describing how she traveled around the world in less than eighty days. He took all three of them to the counter. "Goodness," Mrs. Potter said. "This is quite the order.

"I did real good at the auction," Will said with a forced smile. "Thought it might be time for a few luxuries." Then he had a stroke of genius. "Do you happen to have any bed flannel?"

"You're in luck," she said cheerfully. "We just got a few bolts in. How many yards do you want?" Another bundle was added to the pile on the counter. "Is that everything?"

Will sighed. "Except for the wood."

As expected, Mrs. Potter's eyes brightened again in curiosity and Will scrambled for an excuse. "Finally getting around to fixing up my barn."

Again she looked a bit disappointed at the mundane answer; Will could live with that. He could only imagine her expression if she found out that he was sheltering a notorious outlaw who had a penchant for creative building.

After collecting his mail – including two letters from Tommy, which lifted Will's heart – and loading up his light wagon, Will decided to take a stroll along the boardwalk. There wouldn't be many more chances to come to town before the winter snows; he might as well make the most of the opportunity.

The town was even busier than usual, full of men from other local ranches. The saloons rang with drunken shouts and bawdy songs, the barber had a line of men standing outside the door, and judging from the number of faces looking out from barred windows, the jail was already at capacity.

Will had never gone to a whore in town, preferring the anonymity of Bisbee. Still, he was a man and he wasn't blind. There were four saloons in town, three of which offered women. One of which offered women that Will suspected would probably be 'flexible'. 

So here was Will's chance. He could go into one of those three saloons, get a woman, maybe even a flexible woman, and have her all to himself. He could have a simple poke, cheap but satisfying, and burn out this strange sensation Will felt when he looked at John these days. Or he could try what John had done with Suzie, see if he could understand the appeal.

Or, maybe he could try and find a _very_ flexible woman, and see if there was anything to John's statement about how much better it felt for a man than it did for a woman.

Mulling over his choices, Will went to the barber first. His hair was almost long enough to tie back, and attempts to cut it himself had been less than successful. After waiting thirty minutes he got a seat and enjoyed the feeling as Henry cut his hair short. It felt good to have hands on his skin, even if it wasn't in a sexual way, and he opted for a shave as well.

After the shave, he was tempted to go over to the bath house but he pictured trying to get in – and, more importantly, back out of – the tub with his bad leg and opted to go to the restaurant instead. He had fried chicken with mashed potatoes and apple pie for dessert and by the end of the meal, he'd just about come around to the idea of John raising chickens permanently. As long as Will didn't have to do any of plucking himself. He had a thing about plucking chickens.

After lunch, he managed to rouse enough courage to enter the saloon with the flexible women. Just in case. Remembering how much money John put down for Roberta and Suzie, Will stuck to the cheap whiskey, even though it made his throat burn and his eyes water, and he staked out a place at a corner table, where he could watch the whole room without drawing attention to himself. It didn't take long to identify the whores – all of the women in the saloon beside the barmaid (and Will had his suspicions about her) met that description. Every few minutes or so, one of the women would go up the stairs, a man following a few minutes later. The system was different than the one in the whorehouse Will had gone to in Bisbee; there they hadn't bothered with even a surface attempt at discretion.

Most of the girls in the saloon didn't do much to inspire Will's interest; on the whole they were a tired, ragged bunch, clad in dirty dresses cut too low for the hour and many barely fastened, as if the women didn't even have the time or energy to clothe themselves decently before seeking out another man to coax upstairs.

One woman, though, caught Will's eye. She was a bit sturdier than most of the girls and a lot livelier, smiling as she came down the stairs with her clothes perfectly in place. Will could see following her up to her room, laying down on top of her, and pressing into that moist area between her legs.

The area that was already dripping with other men's leavings. Will felt a wave of revulsion at the idea of sticking his dick in another man's used seed, which was more than a bit ridiculous, since Will couldn't forget, no matter how hot it made his cheeks, the fact that the touch of John's seed had once made him come. And it certainly wasn't revulsion he felt as he remembered that encounter.

Will sighed, tossed back his drink, and headed for the door. It was getting late. Time to go home.

~~~

"What took you so long?" John called as Will carefully guided the wagon into the barn.

"Getting late in the year," Will answered blandly. "Now sure how many more chances I'll have to get to town before the snows come."

John eyed him narrowly. "Did you get a shave? And a haircut?"

Will pretended he was too busy unloading wood to hear.

"Doesn't matter," John said after a few silent moments. "Come see what I made."

Struck with an overwhelming sense of doom, Will followed John out of the barn and around the house to... dammit, the hog pen. Which now featured a giant upside-down funnel from which a steady stream of corn flowed.

"You didn't," Will breathed.

"I did," John crowed. "And it's working perfectly."

Will shook his head. "We'll see," he said direly. "Help me unload before it gets dark."

Full of visible cheer, John moved to obey.


	7. Chapter 7

Two days later, that cheer was nowhere in evidence as John stormed back into the house. "They tore it down! Again!"

"Hogs are smart," Will said mildly as he stirred together a quick biscuit dough. _Not like chickens_ , he added to himself.

"I'm smarter," John said shortly. "And they aren't going to beat me."

"Try to use the scraps up before starting in on the fresh wood," Will requested with a sigh.

John just grunted, already busy with his drawing pad.

~~~

Two weeks later, the Great Hog War was still being waged. Will had just about resigned himself to an extended battle, though he took some comfort in the fact that he'd gotten John to agree to stop using up any more wood. As things stood, there was barely enough left for the cellar.

The cellar project was going far better, though the secretive nature of the endeavor slowed it down considerably. If one of the townsfolk or, God forbid, the sheriff came, Will didn't want to have to explain a cellar-sized pile of dirt outside the door, so every morning after digging out several bucketfuls of dirt, there was a bit of bother in deciding where to put it. Some Will scattered in inconspicuous areas around the barn and hog pen, the rest John would carry out with him during his morning patrol and dump in random places in the canyon. 

The patrols were John's idea, to keep an eye on the fence and on the animals to ensure Grady's men did no more damage. Will was just grateful that it gave the man something to do, something that fed neither his obsession with wood nor with chickens.

It hadn't taken long for Will to recognize that John was prone to obsessing. He figured it went a long way in explaining John's past.

After the morning chores and digging, Will worked on making that fruitcake he'd promised John. Turned out cakes needed eggs, so he'd had to wait a while as the non-brooding hen did some laying. Since the hen only produced an egg once a day or so, Will was limited to one or two cake trials a week. So far he'd managed to bake a cake that didn't rise, a cake that had the texture of clay, and a cake that looked perfect but somehow tasted like metal. John didn't seem to mind the imperfections, eating his half of each attempt with enthusiasm. Will fed his half to the pigs.

On the third day of patrol, before Will had managed to gather enough eggs for his first cake, John had come into the house carrying a dripping canteen. Will, who'd been putting together a trap door for the cellar, had eyed the canteen with a hint of trepidation. "What's that?"

"It's for you," John had said, handing it over. "Taste it."

The first sip had been tentative, then Will's eyes had widened and he'd begun to gulp down the contents of the canteen. "It's from the spring," he'd said when he'd finished.

John had smiled, clearly pleased. "I thought you'd like that."

Will had just smiled back and nodded.

Since then, John brought spring water nearly every day. Will didn't think the man's intentions were entirely altruistic; the best grass in the area was by that spring and John coddled his horse to a shameful degree. Still, he appreciated having fresh spring water to drink, especially since the river was so low this late in the year that it was impossible to collect water without also collecting a good amount of mud.

On a whim, Will tried thinning the peach juice with spring water instead of river water when making his next cake. Sure enough, the end result was fluffy and light and sweet.

"This is wonderful," John enthused that night as he worked through both his and Will's pieces.

"Enjoy it," Will said grumpily. "I'm saving tomorrow's egg for breakfast."

John just stuffed the rest of his second piece into his mouth and, still chewing, cut himself a third.

~~~

Two days later, it started to snow.

There'd been snow before, of course, but mostly it was little more than a few inches. This snow, however, came from a light gunmetal-grey sky, the kind that could produce snow for hours or days before it ran out. When Will went outside to check on the hogs, he saw the lightly falling flakes and swore, his heart picking up in panic. He'd been so worried about the goddamn cellar that he'd completely forgotten about his cattle. "John!" he shouted, limping as quickly as he could towards the barn. "John, where are you?"

John poked his head out of the barn. "Just setting up a place to put the chickens for the winter."

"That's what the chicken coop is for," Will said, pulling down his saddle. "Come on, we've got to move the cattle."

"What do you mean, move the cattle?" John asked, though he was already walking towards his gear.

"You don't think I just left them out there all winter, did you?" From John's baffled expression, he clearly had. "Well, some ranchers do," Will admitted, tossing a blanket over Brownie's back. "But they lose a lot of cattle each year. There's a sheltered canyon on the north east corner of my land. I block it off during the summer so there's enough feed for the cattle to survive the winter."

"Pretty smart," John said, sounding impressed. He'd already gotten Old Faithful's saddle on and was leading her out, while Will was still tightening Brownie's girth.

"Molly's family taught me that," Will admitted. "Only works if you've got land you can block off, though."

"Is that why you picked this land?" John asked as Will finally mounted Brownie and followed John out of the barn.

"Molly's pa actually heard about this place. He's the one who recommended it." Will kicked Brownie into a lope, putting an end to the conversation for a while as they headed out into the range.

Thanks to John's daily patrols, it didn't take long to find the herd, even with the snow. The wind was starting to pick up, though, and Will knew the heavier snowfall would soon follow.

The snow was making the cattle antsy, enough so that if Will had been alone, he knew he would never have been able to get them moving fast enough. Between John's natural talent and superior horse, however, they managed to get the herd pointed in the right direction and trotting along briskly.

The hardest part of the move over, Will rode up next to John. "I'm going to go ahead and open the gate."

John just nodded, then darted to the side to stop a calf from breaking out of the group.

Will just shook his head and rode on ahead, pushing Brownie as hard as he dared considering the increasingly limited visibility and the accumulating snowfall that hid potentially lethal pitfalls. If they hit a prairie dog hole at this speed – well, Will would probably survive, but Brownie would undoubtedly break his leg and have to be put down.

Fortune was with them, however, because Will reached the winter canyon without mishap. The gate was an awkward one composed of little more than a few pieces of wood and an excessive amount of barbed wire and just like every other year he'd done this, Will swore to himself that next year he'd build a proper gate. One that didn't take five minutes and potential shredding to open.

Eventually, he managed to drag the wood and wire to one side. By that point, he could hear the herd coming and he mounted Brownie as quickly as he could, cursing his leg as it tried to crumple beneath him. It was always worse in the cold.

Once mounted, he headed to the closest of the three shelters that sat along the edges of the canyon. It was a simple structure, barely more than a glorified lean-to, but it was also sturdy and Will breathed a sigh of relief to find it and the hay it protected both still intact. He should've checked on the hay before, but at first he was too busy and then John came and he was too distracted and in the end the last time he'd seen this hay was when he'd bought it during the early summer harvest.

He wasn't able to move the bales on his own, so he simply cut open the few bales in front and was relieved to see that they'd been baled properly and that there was no rot inside. The rest he left as it was; he'd open them when he came back to check on the cattle in a few weeks. If he couldn't make it out for some reason, he knew the animals would eventually get desperate enough to eat the baled hay, string and all.

The next two shelters were in decent shape, though it looked like some mice got into the hay in the third shelter. Not that mice could actually eat enough to make any sort of difference, but they startled Will when they burst out of a bale he'd just cut open.

By the time he'd finished with the hay, the entire herd was safely in the canyon. Will did a quick headcount to be sure as he rode up next to John. "Nice job."

"Good cattle," John answered, squinting a bit in the falling snow. Will frowned as he noticed for the first time that John hadn't had time to get his hat before riding out into the snow. 

"We should hurry back," Will said. "It's only going to get worse."

John nodded and turned Old Faithful. As they stopped to put the gate back in place, he commented, "It's so small."

Will spared a glance up into the canyon. Compared to the range that encompassed most of his land, this canyon was small, but at the same time he knew it was several times the size of most winter pastures back east. Of course, they had better grass back east and they rarely got as much snow as they did here in the west. "It's why I wait so long to put them away for the winter," Will said as he wrestled with the stubborn post. "Too early and they'll eat up all the food before the winter's gone." With one last heave he managed to get the post close enough to the wire loop to hook it into place. "Better hurry," he added, swinging up on Brownie's back. "The snow's gonna get a lot worse."

Unfortunately, the snow did get worse, making it impossible for them to hurry. About halfway back to the house, they were forced to slow down to a walk so that the horses could pick their way through the drifts of snow.

"Had your father-in-law ever seen the west before?”

Will turned in his saddle to stare at John, half worried the man had lost his wits to the cold. "What?"

"Your father-in-law," John repeated slowly, clearly making an effort to enunciate through half-frozen lips. "Did he know anything about the west when he told you about the land? About the droughts they have out here?"

Will reined in Brownie so that Old Faithful could move up beside him. Old Faithful didn't look impressed about losing her windbreak, but obligingly stepped up. "He'd heard about the droughts," Will said as the horses continued to make their way through the snow. "But neither of us really understood what it meant. They don't have droughts like these back east. It might not rain for a while and the crops might die if they aren't watered, but in the hundred years that Molly's family owned their farm, their creek never came close to drying up. To them, a drought meant more work. It never occurred to us that out west a drought might mean dying of thirst."

"Sounds nice," John said, his voice starting to slur just a bit. "Must be pretty."

"It is pretty," Will said wistfully. "Very green. Rivers and lakes everywhere." He glanced over at John, looking miserable all hunched up in his saddle. "What about you?" Will asked, suddenly feeling a strange insistence that no matter what, John had to keep talking. "You ever been out east?"

John shook his head, spraying a bit of snow around. "Furthest east I've ever been is Juarez," he said. At least that's what Will thought he said. John's lips were barely moving now.

"How far east is that in American towns?" Will asked.

John shot him a look that might've been dirty if it wasn't so damned tired. "Albuquerque," he said flatly.

Will ignored the look and the tone. They were less than a mile out now, but the snow was falling heavily and John's lips were starting to turn blue. Whatever it took to keep John talking and moving, that's what Will was going to do. "Where else have you gone? Besides Juarez and San Francisco."

In spite of the weather, John looked almost pleased for a moment. Still, his voice slurred even more as he said, "I've been all over California and Arizona. Tried to go to Texas once," he added in a mumble, "but ran into a bunch of rangers that were just spoiling for a fight." His voice trailed off and he slumped a bit in the saddle.

Will grabbed John's arm and shook him. "Hey! Wake up!"

John just slid down a bit further in the saddle.

Will swore and pulled out his rope. As quickly as he could with fingers numb from the cold, he tied John to his saddle. Once he was reasonably sure the other man wouldn't fall off, he grabbed Old Faithful's reins and wrapped them around his saddle horn.

The remainder of the trip was nothing short of a nightmare. John kept sliding around on his saddle and though he never entirely fell off, Will was constantly afraid that he was about to do so. Old Faithful, however wonderful she was when John was in control of her, was an incredibly ornery horse without John's firm hand and twice she tried to bite Brownie or Will, whichever one was closest. Brownie was his usual stalwart self but the snow was growing thicker with every passing moment and before long, they were in a white-out. Will squinted into the wind, but he wasn't able to see more than a few feet, certainly not far enough to identify any landmarks.

Will took a deep breath and tried his best not to panic. They had been pointed in the right direction when he could see last, he was sure of it, and Brownie hadn't slowed down a whit. He'd just have to trust that Brownie knew where home was, and that his horse would take him there safely.

Without the need to guide his horse, Will found himself far more aware of the cold. The wind was bitter and biting and it cut through his coat, slicing into his skin. Snow piled up on his coat and his hat, slowly melting and causing freezing water to trickle down his back. His nose dripped, his skin both burned and stung, and his hands felt like blocks of ice. As they rode on, his head sunk lower and lower, in a fruitless effort to block out the wind.

He was starting to worry that they weren't going to make it after all, when Brownie suddenly came to a stop. Will blinked and lifted his head with an effort.

They were at a house. His house. Will gasped with relief and slid off of his horse, very nearly falling to the ground when his bad leg cramped and threatened to give way underneath him. There wasn't time for him to collapse though, not with John half off of his saddle. Will pulled his knife, his hands too frozen to deal with the knots he'd created, and sawed through the rope as best he could. It took several tries before he managed to get enough of the rope cleared.

John fell to the ground like a sack of coal.

Will's eyes stung as he struggled to pick John up but there was no way for his leg to support both of their weights. In the end, he could only take John's wrists and drag him inside, one hobbled step at a time, leaving a muddy trail through the snow. John moaned at the first jerk of movement and then again as Will yanked him up over the small step that served as a threshold for the house.

It was easier once they were inside, thanks to the wooden floor. Will dragged John the few feet over to the clear area in front of the kitchen stove. A rag rug was in front of the sink; Will grabbed it and draped it over John.

Moving as quickly as possible, Will limped outside and grabbed both of the horses' bridles and led them into the barn. He only took the time to pull off the saddles and toss a fresh blanket on each of the animals; he'd come to give them a rubdown and feed them as soon as he was sure John would be okay.

The snow had died down a bit by the time he went back to the house but Will didn't let himself relax. Snowstorms like this would come in waves and it was a foolish man who underestimated the fury of the storm. Will had proven himself such a fool and John might pay for that foolishness with his life.

Inside the cabin, Will went straight into his bedroom and pulled all of his blankets off of the bed. He hauled them out to the kitchen and dropped them on John before doing going into John's room and collecting his blankets as well.

When he checked on John, though, Will found that the pile of blankets hadn't done him much good. The blankets could only hold heat in and John just didn't have enough heat to give.

Will promptly started stripping the damp clothes off of John's limp form, appalled at the thinness of his coat and the limited number of layers. John's skin was an unhealthy white with patches of painful-looking red. Will touched the skin carefully, feeling the way it absorbed the heat from his hands without any noticeable improvement.

With a sigh, Will began shrugging off his clothes. Tommy had gotten lost in the snow when he'd only been a few years old and Molly had stripped them both and cuddled in bed together until he'd warmed up again. When they'd brought him in to the doctor a few days later, he'd said that she's saved Tommy's life.

John's skin was so cold that Will's body instinctively flinched away. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to press closer, until he was flush with the other man, feeling as if every bit of heat in his body was being drawn away with John not getting any warmer. Reaching out with one arm, Will grabbed every blanket he could reach and piled them on top. It didn't seem to do much good.

With a resigned sigh, Will nuzzled his nose into John's neck, enduring the resultant iciness. This was, without a doubt, one of the most miserable moments of his entire life.

It felt like an eternity later when a shiver went through John's body. "John?" Will whispered.

John didn't respond in words, but shuddered again, this time much harder.

Will whispered a quiet prayer and held John just a little tighter.

Over the next few minutes (or hours, it felt like hours) John's shivers turned into full-blown shaking, so violent at times that they nearly dislodged Will's grip. "It's okay," Will murmured, time and again, though he doubted that John could hear him. "It's okay. You'll be fine."

Ever so slowly, John's body began to warm and his shivers grew a little less violent.

Will's genitals, which had been doing their best to crawl up into his body, began to recognize that the situation was becoming significantly less dire. Will gritted his teeth and did his best to ignore the sensations running through his body.

"Wha–?"

Will started. "John?"

"Wha'ssa happen'?"

"You nearly froze to death, that's what happened," Will said tightly.

"Froze?"

"Yeah."

John wriggled and Will, not sure what to think, loosened his hold. John immediately turned over, wrapped his arms around Will, and burrowed in, thrusting his nose into Will's neck.

John's nose was like ice.

Will didn't care.

"You scared me," Will murmured into John's ear.

John nuzzled Will's neck. "Feel good."

"You do," Will repeated flatly.

John thrust his hips forward and Will felt something hard and hot push against his stomach. "Yes," he said smugly.

"Ah, I don't think you're up for that yet," Will said, his voice higher than usual.

John thrust again.

"Oh hell," Will muttered. He hid his eyes in John's neck and thrust back.

They kept thrusting, over and over again, the cold under the blankets turning uncomfortably hot until both were sweating, their cocks sliding slickly against each other, their breath growing heavy and heated. Will felt pressure building up behind his cock, felt his balls getting hot and tight and then the pleasure hit, took over his body and kept him rutting hard against John's belly, completely unable to do anything but focus on the sensation as John rubbed back until a second spurt of fluid spilled out between them.

Will slumped back against the floor, as limp as a rag doll. John curled up against his side, his head resting on Will's chest. For a few moments they just breathed. 

And sweated. "How do you feel?" Will asked.

"Damned fine," John said and despite his flushed skin, the circles around his eyes, and slight slurring that still marked his speech, he honestly looked like he believed it.

Will couldn't help it; he chuckled. "I meant, are you still cold?"

John hesitated, then sighed. "A bit. Inside."

Will let out a huff of air. "All right, let me up. I'm going to make you some coffee."

John considered that for a moment before wrapping an arm tightly around Will. "I'd rather have you here."

"I'll be back," Will said, and he wasn't completely sure it was a lie.

Another hesitation before John squeezed him tightly, then let go. Will slid out from under the blankets and added more wood to the stove before filling the percolator with grounds and water. "I'm sorry," he said, his back to John. "I should've waited to move the cattle till after the snow."

"You didn't know it'd get that bad," John answered.

"I knew it was possible," Will said. "This time of the year, storms turn ugly fast."

John let out an exasperated sigh. "I could've chosen not to go, you know. I wasn't dressed for the weather."

That got Will to turn around. "Why not? It was cold before the snow started."

John shifted uncomfortably. "Honestly, I didn't expect to stay this long."

Will opened his mouth but shut it again with speaking. The moment grew awkward. Will turned to fiddle with the percolator. John shifted until he was more covered by the blankets.

The coffee poured and heavily sweetened, Will crouched down to hand the mug to John. John, in turn, sat up and dragged the blankets around until he was completely wrapped except for the hand he reached out for the cup. While John sipped, Will draped himself with a spare blanket and retreated to a chair.

"So," John said when his cup was half-empty. "You have regrets." 

It wasn't a question, so Will didn't bother to answer.

"You want me to leave?"

"No," Will said quickly. John didn't look convinced. "Really," Will said. "I'm not sure about," he waved a hand back and forth between them, "but I know I don't want to you leave." He smiled slightly. "Despite the chickens."

John eyed him for a moment, then smiled back. "Admit it, you like the eggs."

"They almost make up for the chickens," Will answered.

They stared at each other, John looking up from the floor and Will looking down from his chair.

Never shifting his gaze, John said, "I liked what we did. I'm going to want to do it again."

Will let out a long, low breath, but didn't look away. "I'm not promising anything."

"Not even pancakes?" John asked hopefully.

Will laughed despite himself. "Fine. Pancakes. But you're going to have to move away from the front of the stove."

John immediately tried to stand up, but the pile of blankets wrapped around him got in his way and both he and his empty cup went tumbling back down to the floor. "Here," Will said, hurrying over to help him up.

"This is awkward," John said.

"It's your own fault," Will said gruffly, arranging the blankets so that John could sit down without any part of him being exposed to the air. "Where are your winter clothes?"

"In some caves about a mile from here."

Will stopped fussing. "What?"

"I have a hideout there," John said blandly. "It's where I went when you were smoking that cow."

Connections were being made in John's mind. "And when we first met?"

"I was trying to get there," John answered. "I'd planned to hole up until the posse who shot me gave up." He caught Will's eye. "I would've died then, if you hadn't taken me in."

"Molly and Tommy would've died if we hadn't taken you in," Will countered.

There was a long, awkward silence and for the first time since Will had met him, John wouldn't meet his eyes. "Oh, my God," Will breathed. "You mean –"

"They were members of my gang," John said. "They came to get me. When they saw Molly, they decided they to have a little fun."

"That's why you left so soon after," Will breathed, not quite sure what he was feeling as he said the words. "To meet back up with your gang."

"No," John said flatly. "I killed my third in command that night; he was the one holding Tommy. You helped bury the body the next day."

Will pressed his lips together and looked away.

"I left a few days after that because I knew they'd come after me. I spent the next two years on the run but every time I stopped more than a few weeks, they caught up with me and people died." He took a deep breath. "Finally I had enough. I went on the offensive, picking them off one by one."

"I guess you got them all," Will said.

"The last one was three days before I showed up at your door." The silent stretched out. "They'd tried to kill me for years," John said, sounding defensive. "It was me or them."

They'd also tried to hurt Molly; John may not have brought it up, but Will couldn't forget that fact. It made it harder to be angry at John for killing the bastards.

"You can use my coat tomorrow, go to the caves," Will finally said.

John's body visibly relaxed. "You don't have a spare?"

"After the last couple of years, I'm lucky to have a spare pair of pants."

John tried to smirk, the attempt almost painful to see. "I'll make pancakes if you make the bed," Will offered, mostly to wipe that grimace off John's face.

"Bed?" John said carefully.

"Just for tonight," Will answered as casually as he could manage, already pulling out the flour and baking powder. "You're still cold and we don't have any extra blankets. Makes sense to share."

"I guess it does," John readily agreed. "Want me to move the flannel over, too?"

Frankly, Will thought it likely that he was going to melt into a puddle with just the blankets, never mind the flannel, but they probably would feel good to someone who'd nearly frozen to death just a few hours before. "Sure."

They didn't speak much for the rest of the evening, just worked silently side by side as they ate dinner and readied the house for the night. They remained silent as they crawled into bed, Will on the far side against the wall and John close to the door, the majority of the blankets piled just on his side of the bed. The flannel bedding was softer than Will expected it to be but just as warm, and he scooted closer to the edge of the bed and the promise of coolness. He was just an inch from falling on the floor when he finally drifted off to sleep.

When he woke up, he'd somehow migrated back to the center of the bed and he and John were tangled up like two wolf cubs huddling together for warmth.


	8. Chapter 8

Over the next few days, Will found himself overwhelmingly aware of John. When they were in the same room, the side of Will's body closest to John somehow felt warmer, even if John was a half-a-dozen steps away. When they were apart, Will's thoughts constantly turned to John, wondering what he was doing and how he was feeling. Occasionally, they strayed further still, to what John might be planning for the two of them, but Will always shied away from deliberately considering the possibilities.

Though he did notice that John was touching him more. Nothing intimate, just a friendly hand on the shoulder when they greeted in the morning, or fingers brushing against Will's when he passed him something over the table. Minor touches that could've been Will's imagination, but weren't. As impossible as it was, Will somehow felt John's touch on his skin hours after the actual contact occurred.

While John went to his cave, Will made a considerable amount of progress with his cellar. He was getting tired of the slow pace dictated by the need to hide the extra dirt from lawmen that might never come and decided that, even if it took a while to get rid of the dirt itself, he could at least finish with the digging. With that goal in mind, he managed to empty out the planned cellar area in just a couple of hours, though he filled every empty pot, cup, bowl, bag, and box in the house in the process.

When John returned, a surprisingly large number of bags in hand, Will was in the process of carrying containers full of dirt to the hog pen. "Been busy?" John asked with raised eyebrows.

"Cellar's dug." Will dumped several pounds of dirt out of his stewpot. "Caves as you left them?"

"Yep." John followed Will into the house and dropped his bags at the door. When Will turned around with a couple of bowls of dirt, he found John staring around the room in disbelief. 

"I just wanted to get finished," Will said gruffly.

"I see." John stepped forward and dropped something on the table before picking up the saucepan. "You're washing these dishes."

Will didn't answer, his eyes caught by the something that John had dropped. The something that looked suspiciously like stack of bills, even thicker than the stack John had brought when he'd first arrived. "John?"

"You don't think I left it all in one place, did you?" John asked with a touch of defensiveness. "And –," he let out a gust of air, "and I know where my gang saved theirs, too. Those that saved it, anyway – outlaws aren't usually known for being good with money."

Will didn't know what to say. Hell, he didn't even know what to _think_. With the money from the sale of his cattle somewhere between the buyer's bank and Will's own, Will and John were living almost entirely on the money John had first brought. Will hadn't forgotten that it was stolen money, but he'd managed to push that fact to the back of his mind. Now that he was confronted with more money and knowing that there was potentially even more to come, it was a lot harder to ignore where exactly that money came from.

It wasn't that Will was especially sympathetic to the railroads. Even before he'd heard John's story, Will had seen camps of railroad workers. It was hard to feel sorry at some minor losses for rich men on the east coast who dined on oysters and champagne while their workers were lucky to get meat once a week.

No, it wasn't the railroad barons who were the problem. The problem was all of the innocent people John's gang stole money from over all those years. "John," Will started.

"It doesn't do any good to leave it out in the desert," John said quickly. 

"Not what I was going to ask." Will glanced away for a moment, wondering if he could just let this go. He sighed. "How much of what you stole was from the railroads?"

John looked confused. "What?"

"How much was from the railroads, how much from other people?"

"I don't know," John said with a frown. "Most of it was from the railroads."

"I worked as a bank clerk," Will said. "Give me a number."

"Figuring ain't my strong suit," John said warily.

Will shook his head, but reminded himself that John didn't have much formal education. "Okay, pretend everything you stole is a dollar. How many cents of that would be what you took from people who weren't connected with the railroad?"

John relaxed a little. "Two, three cents at most."

Most of the tension flowed out of Will's body. "All right. That's not so bad."

"So you'll take it," John asked and a hint of wistfulness snuck through.

Will thought about that, about how much money they really needed to run the ranch, to feed and clothe themselves, to save in case of future droughts. Then he considered what would happen if John was discovered here some day, if he had to go on the run. "Half," Will finally said. "We can keep half."

"And the rest?"

"We give it to people who need it," Will said. "Charities."

"Not churches," John said with a scowl.

"Orphanages?" Will offered. "Or maybe schools?"

John brightened a little at that. "I heard some schools have scholarships for poor boys."

"Maybe we can pay for one of those." Will considered the amount of money they were probably going to be dealing with. "Or several."

Now John was positively beaming. "I can live with that."

Will couldn't help but smile back. "So can I."

~~~

With the digging done, it didn't take long to finish the cellar. Will was quite proud of the final product: it'd easily fit a man, even if all the shelves were filled, and he’d even put in a floor in the unlikely event they had enough rain for water to seep in through the walls. He'd used leather for hinges on the trap door so they'd lay almost flat, with a second strip of leather in place to lift the door up, and the entire area was covered with one of Molly's rag rugs, which neatly covered any evidence of a cellar and yet which could be quickly pulled away. He also repositioned the table so that the head chair rested just over the door: it wasn't as good as the entire table being over it but the chair was easier to move and, with his leg, Will figured he'd have an excuse to stay seated if lawmen ever came.

Will was all ready to show off the finished cellar when John came in. Unfortunately, when John came in he had several bundles of yellow fluff in his hands and didn't seem inclined to care about holes in the floor, no matter how well those holes had been designed and built. "Look," John crowed, carefully setting the fluff balls onto the table. "Chicks!"

"I see," Will said blandly. "Should you be taking them away from their mama?"

"I'm just borrowing them," John said absently, his eyes locked on the chicks. "They'll be fine."

Will sighed and sat down on the other side of the table, watching the tiny animals exploring the tabletop. "Why do you know so much about chickens?"

"We raised them at the orphanage," John said, smiling as one of the birds attacked his fingers. "It was supposed to be good for our 'moral development'." His smile carried a hint of bitterness now. "We never got to eat the chicken, though. The church sold the birds to help pay for our tuition."

Will felt a lump forming in his throat. "The eggs?"

"Never had a one," John said, clearly trying to sound casual, but failing miserably. "Father Michael had them every morning with his breakfast."

They continued to watch the chicks, but much of the enjoyment had disappeared from the room. Will tried to smile. "I finished the cellar."

John looked up from the birds, a much more authentic smile on his face. "That's great. Here, let me put the chicks away so I can see it."

A short while later John was in the cellar, looking about in satisfaction while Will watched from the comfort of his chair. "So?" 

"It's perfect," John said. He sat down and rested his back against one of the shelves. "I can almost stretch my legs out."

Will winced. "I thought about making it bigger, but I didn't think the floor would support it."

"That wasn't a complaint," John said. He climbed the first few rungs on the built-in ladder until his head was near Will's. Without warning, John leaned in for a kiss and after a brief, startled moment, Will allowed it. John's lips were warm and slightly chapped and they worked over Will's for several seconds before John pulled Will's lower lip into his mouth and sucked on it gently.

Will couldn't quite hold back a moan, but he did have just enough resolve to force himself to pull away when it seemed like John was planning on deepening the kiss further. "So you like it," he said huskily.

"It's perfect," John said again. "Thank you." Then he smiled. "I think we should celebrate with a cake."

Will surprised himself with a laugh. "If you're making it."

"You want me to cook?" John asked with exaggerated shock.

"I can only make a cake with spring water," Will said gravely.

The corner of John's mouth quirked up. "What about cookies, then? I hear they don't take any water."

"It's a miracle your teeth haven't rotted out," Will said chidingly, but he was already up on his feet and reaching for the cookbook. "Sugar cookies?"

"Can I have cinnamon on top?"

Will shook his head. He wondered how many people knew that the infamous John Anderson was shamelessly addicted to sugar. "If you help make them."

"I can do that," John said, climbing out of the cellar, slotting the trap door into place, and carefully covering it all with a rug. "And tomorrow I'll go out to the spring."

"Perfect," Will said. "Tomorrow I can teach you how to bake a cake."

~~~

Now equipped with adequate winter clothes, John started going off to check on the cows again. Each time he came back with a canteen or two of spring water and a random guess as to how many of the cows were pregnant.

Will was grateful about not having to ride several hours every day; long stretches on Brownie tended to make his leg cramp up even in the warmest part of the year and damn near crippled him in the bitter cold of deep winter. As a way of saying thanks, he tended to the chickens – and tried very hard not to get too attached to the chicks – and hogs and worked on repairs around the house that he'd deliberately put off for the winter months.

He started in John's room, which hadn't been repaired since Tommy left. He hadn't been in the room since then either, so he'd not realized how bad the clay between the logs had eroded. In some places, he could see snow through the cracks. No wonder John kept complaining about the cold.

After he'd plastered the cracks with mud, he began making his way through all of the odds and ends he'd had stored in John's room. There was more than he remembered: clothes from both Molly and Tommy, toys and books that Tommy had left behind, a broken chair that Will had never gotten around to repairing, a seemingly endless supply of mostly useless items, and... Molly's hope chest.

Will's breath caught in his throat. He'd forgotten that this was in here: as long as he and Molly had shared a bed, the chest had sat at the foot of it, but after her death he couldn't bear to have it in his room anymore. Tommy seemed to get some comfort from having Molly's chest in his room; at the time, Will had just been grateful to have it gone.

The chest was made of cedar and was covered in exquisitely carved flowers and fruit. Molly had done the carving herself, to the horror of her mother and the pride of her father. She'd had a real knack with a knife: as long as there were no guests to disapprove, she usually carved the meat at dinner and Will had to admit that she was far better at it than he ever managed.

Reverently opening the chest, Will pulled out the embroidered linen tablecloth they'd used on special occasions. It smelled of cedar and cinnamon; Will pressed the cloth to his face and breathed in deeply. 

"Was that Molly's?"

Will lowered the tablecloth, but didn't turn around. "Yes."

He heard the door close and footsteps as John moved to sit in the chair opposite Will. "It's beautiful. Just like she was."

Will smiled, though his eyes filled with water. "She was." He carefully set the tablecloth aside. Underneath it was a sampler that even Will could see was inexpertly done. It was of a large heart surrounding the words HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS. A tear escaped Will's eye and he made no effort to brush it away.

By the time Will reached the bottom of the chest, tears were running down his cheeks and dripping off his chin. John had moved his chair next to Will's and was carefully taking each item from Will's hand, moving them safely out of the way of Will's tears.

At the bottom of the chest was a box. Will lifted it out carefully and opened it up. The inside was lined with velvet and nestled within that velvet was a full set of tarnished silver. "This was from Molly's great-grandmother. She brought them with her when her family came over from Germany."

"They're lovely," John commented, picking up a fork. "Why don't you use them?"

"Molly only used it for special occasions," Will said with a fond smile. " _Very_ special occasions. She hated polishing silver."

"I don't blame her," John said. "The nuns used to make us clean the Father's silver if they caught us sneaking out after curfew. Made our hands blister."

Will shook his head. "The more I hear about the orphanage, the more I wish they'd rebuilt it, just so I could burn it down again."

John grinned. "Why, Will, I didn't think you had it in you."

Will shrugged self-consciously.

They sat in silence for a few moments, Will running his fingers over the silverware.

"You still love her, don't you?" John asked softly.

"I'll always love her," Will said. "But she's gone. She's been gone a long time."

John stared at him. "Will?"

Will closed the silverware case and placed it back into the chest. The mementos, the sampler, the linens, the baby clothes followed. Finally, the tablecloth. Will kissed it before setting it carefully in the chest. "I love you, Molly," he murmured, closing the chest. "Goodbye."


	9. Chapter 9

After the hope chest, John started spending more time outside with the animals and Will threw himself into the house repairs. He patched the rest of the house's walls, fixed the chair from Tommy's room, mended a shelf in the kitchen that had fallen down two years before, and managed to make some headway on the porch he'd begun back when they'd first moved into the house, before he'd realized just how much work a ranch was to run with just one person. He even sanded down his bedroom door so it could actually shut again, though he never closed the door these days and if he were honest with himself, it wasn't just so the heat from the stove could get through to his room.

His house had never been in such good shape.

He was working on the porch one day in December when he looked up to see John coming up to the house at a near-gallop. "Get your boots on," he said, pulling up right next to the porch and sliding off Old Faithful's back. "I'll saddle Brownie."

"What –"

"Something's happened with the cattle," John said, already moving to the barn. "You need to see it to understand."

With that completely unsatisfying bit of information, John disappeared. Will swore vociferously and limped inside to get his riding boots.

They rode fast, not dangerously so but fast enough that they couldn't talk as they rode. John took the lead, sticking to a well-worn trail through the snow, and they got to the canyon almost as fast as they would've in the middle of the summer. The air was bitterly cold, though, and despite the heat coming off of Brownie's sides, Will felt his bad leg protesting.

As they approached the canyon, Will saw that John hadn't even bothered to close the gate and he felt the first trickle of panic. The trickle sped up as Will saw the herd all huddled together at the far end of the canyon, staying as far away as possible from several lumps that were all grouped together on the right side of the canyon.

The lumps were dead cows. Of course they were, Will had been expecting that. What he hadn't expected were the arrows sticking out of the animals' sides. His hands tightened on the reins. "Indians?"

John dismounted and walked over to the nearest body. He pulled out the arrow and held it up for Will to inspect. "See the thread holding the feathers in place? Indians don't use thread, they use sinew."

Realization hit. "Grady."

John flung the arrow away. "That'd be my guess."

"Fuck." Will counted six dead animals. Six out of a herd of just over seventy. Nearly ten percent of his animals just gone.

"Can the meat still be used?"

Will shook his head. "It's been hours, maybe overnight, and they haven't been bled or dressed. The hogs'll eat it, but no way they can eat six cows. We'll have to get the bodies out of the canyon, as far away from the river as we can. Burying them is best but the ground is frozen."

John was rigid with tension. "Bastard," he spat.

"John –"

"No!" John shouted. "This isn't right. It's not right that he can do this, that he can get away with this." He viciously kicked one of the corpses. "Just like the goddamned railroad."

Will damn near fell off his horse trying to get down as fast as he could, his leg cramping up something fierce in the bitter winter cold. "No, John," he said as he regained his feet. "I know what you're thinking and you're not going to do it."

"Why not?" John asked. "He's just going to do it again. Probably something even worse, if he isn't stopped."

Will hobbled over, his bad leg knotted up so tight that it could barely hold his weight, and protesting each step he took. He stumbled over a tuft of frozen grass and felt something tear inside, but he ignored the pain to focus all his attention on John. "You promised," he hissed. "You promised me. I’m going to hold you to that promise."

John breathed heavily a few times, but some of the tension leeched out of his body. "It isn't right," he repeated, softer now.

"I know," Will said, putting a careful hand in the middle of John's back. "I know it isn't right. But it's my herd, so it's my decision. I don't want you to kill him."

John held himself tight for a second longer then all of a sudden he slumped. "I hate men like that."

"I know," Will said again. He wrapped his free arm around John's shoulders, pulling him into an embrace and conveniently holding himself up at the same time.

"Leg bothering you?" John asked, his voice gentle now.

"Yeah," Will admitted with a touch of embarrassment. "I think I'm going to need help getting back up on Brownie."

"I shouldn't've brought you here," John said, grimly. "Come on, lean on me."

Between the two of them and with a lot of patience on Brownie's part, they managed to get Will back in the saddle. "You able to ride?"

Will considered trying to ride without putting any weight on his leg. "We'll need to go slow."

John pulled himself up on Old Faithful. "You go ahead and take all the time you need. I'll catch up."

That didn't sound good. "John?"

Unfortunately, John was already riding out of the canyon. Full of foreboding, Will followed.

He'd barely rode ten minutes before John came up beside him, and Will breathed a sigh of relief. Ten minutes wouldn't've been enough time for him to reach the edge of Will's land and back again, much less get all the way to Grady's place.

The dripping canteen tied to John's saddle horn explained the departure. "The spring?"

John looked a little sheepish. "We came all the way out; seemed foolish not to."

"I'm just glad you weren't going after Grady," Will said.

"I made a promise," John said seriously. "I won't go back on that."

"And if Grady does something else?"

John's mouth tightened. "You'll need heat for that leg. I'll go on ahead and put some water on to boil."

"No, John –" It was too late; for the second time that day John rode away faster than Will could follow.

~~~

By the time Will saw his house, the sun was starting to set. There was no Old Faithful in sight but there were lights on in the house's window. Brownie sped up as he caught sight of the barn and the inherent promise of oats. Will gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the pain.

John stepped out of the house as Will pulled Brownie to a halt. "Need help?"

Will desperately wanted to say that he didn't, but he also didn't want to drag himself back to the house by his fingernails. "Please."

Without comment, John helped Will down from the horse and into the house. He'd set up all of the chairs so Will could sit down and stretch his bad leg out but when Will started in that direction, John stopped him. "How many pairs of pants do you have?"

Will stared at him. "What?"

"How many pairs of pants?"

"Why?" Will asked cautiously.

"Because if I put wet rags on your leg, it's going to get this pair of pants wet."

Will closed his eyes in annoyance, but he remembered how long it took to dry the clothes after the last time they'd washed them. Bad enough that the lower half were already wet with snow; he didn't have enough pairs of pants to have a pair be thoroughly damp for the next few days. Without looking at John, Will unbuckled his pants and unbuttoned his fly.

"Boots," John pointed out helpfully.

"I don't plan on sitting down more than once," Will said as he began unbuttoning his shirt. This would be so much easier if long johns came in two parts.

Once he got the long johns down around his waist, Will put his shirt back on, then his coat. At which point he realized that he'd very efficiently hobbled himself and he was at least three steps from the chairs. 

"Here," John said, suddenly right at Will's side. "If you just turn, I can lower you into the seat."

This was humiliating, Will decided, as he did his best to shuffle around with his pants twisted up around his ankles. It was even worse when John took Will's hands and encouraged him to sit back blind, his cock dangling between his legs, and his bad leg shaking with the effort of not collapsing out from underneath him.

John never let go, though, and Will ended up safely in the seat. As soon as he was settled, John crouched down and, without ceremony, tugged off Will's boots and then stripped off his pants and long johns. "Ready?" he asked, standing up.

"I can do this part by myself," Will said, clinging to a last scrap of pride, though he had to lift his leg up by his hands to get it positioned on the opposite chair.

John gave him a quick smile and went to the stove, where a pot was steaming. 

Less than a minute later, hot clothes were layered over Will's leg. "That's some scar," John commented as he laid the last cloth down. 

"The bone cut through the leg," Will said through gritted teeth. The pain was intense but he knew if he just lasted long enough, the warmth would take most of the pain away. "And the doc opened it a little more. He had to, to get the bones to sit right."

"And you let him do it?" John asked incredulously.

"I was unconscious," Will said with a shrug. "Didn't know about it till after."

"Hell of a thing to do without a man's permission," John muttered, draping a towel over Will's legs.

"He saved my leg," Will pointed out. "Hard to be angry with him."

John just grunted. "You should be okay for a few minutes. I'm going to take care of your horse."

Will nodded. As John turned to leave, though, he called out, "And John? Thanks."

"No thanks necessary," John said without turning around. "You'd do it for me."

The confidence in John's voice was surprising but Will couldn't argue the point.

~~~

The next morning was a bad one. Will didn't even try to get out of bed, just lay there with his teeth gritted as his leg cramped, and tried to ride out the pain. This was his own damn fault; he knew better than to push his leg too hard in the heart of winter, when it was too cold to snow and you had to breathe through your nose to keep your lungs from freezing. That kind of cold tightened up the muscles even in his good leg and it made the muscles in his bad leg prone to tearing.

The pain was just getting to be on the right side of bearable when John stuck his head through the door. "How's the leg?"

Will glared at him. John winced sympathetically. "I'll go make breakfast," he offered as he fled, undoubtedly to make French toast.

French toast did sound good, but Will knew it wasn't likely he was going to make it out of bed today and the idea of three meals of French toast in a row was enough to make his stomach turn. Fate, Will decided, was saying that it was time for the infamous outlaw John Anderson to learn how to cook.

John did not look overwhelmed with happiness by the news. In fact, he looked downright dubious. "Are you sure?"

"You have to learn sometime," Will insisted. "What if they find you here and you have to run away to Belize? How'll you take care of yourself if you don't know how to cook?"

For some reason, John looked hurt by that statement. "Fine," he said sourly. "What do I need to do first?"

Will was taken aback by the tone, but gamely moved ahead. "Take a pound or two of the beef and fry it in the largest skillet. Not long; just until both sides are brown. Then add a cup of water, put the lid on, and place it on the back of the stove, where it's a bit cooler."

John nodded shortly and walked out of the room, leaving Will holding an empty plate sticky with syrup.

A while later, John came back, this time carrying a flat box. "Thought you might want to play checkers," he offered diffidently.

Recognizing an apology when he saw one, Will nodded and shifted over in the bed to give John room to place the board. He immediately regretted it as sharp pains lanced through his thigh.

John winced. "Maybe you shouldn't move."

"Completely agree," Will gasped. "Next time, you can just crawl over me."

Continuing his inexplicable behavior, John brightened. "If you insist."

Will stared at him for a moment, then shook his head and opened the box. As they laid out the board and the pieces, John asked in a quieter voice, "Does it get this bad often?"

"Not anymore," Will said. Since he ended up with black pieces, he made the first move. "The first few months were rough."

John moved a piece of his own. "How did you take care of yourself?"

Will thought back to those first few days, to dragging himself around the house with tears of pain running down his eyes; to eating raw potatoes and onions because they were all he could reach without being able to even get to his knees, much less stand up; to pissing in a chamber pot that was already overflowing; to sleeping in the kitchen floor because even the hard wood was better than trying to drag himself back to his bed. 

He'd been lying on the kitchen floor, no more than a foot away from a puddle of his own piss, when Mrs. Potter found him. She'd ostensibly come out to bring him a pie but Will knew it was just an excuse to check up on him, and he knew she'd probably saved his life that day.

All he said to John, however, was: "The ladies in town helped."

John looked at him askance. "And their menfolk didn't have anything to say about that?"

"This was just a few months after Tommy left," Will said, trying to ignore the way his throat thickened every time he thought of his absent son. The winters were the hardest, when he couldn't get into town for his mail and when the long winter nights encouraged painful thoughts. "And Molly gone just a few months before that. There might've been someone watching the house while the women were inside, but I doubt they even bothered."

~~~

On the third day, John decided that Will was well enough to get out of bed if the house were to be somehow set alight (though he was forbidden to make the attempt for any situation less dire) and went out to dispose of the carcasses still sitting in the winter canyon. Will could hardly argue the point; they'd been lucky thus far that the weather had remained bitterly cold over the last few days, making it unlikely that any predators or scavengers would stumble across the bodies. They couldn't count on their luck holding much longer.

Before he left, John piled books, a deck of cards, paper and pencil, and even some of Tommy's old toys next to Will's bed. Will had laughed at him, pointing out that he was a grown man and fully capable of keeping himself occupied.

Four hours later, Will wasn't laughing anymore. He'd eaten the pork biscuit sandwiches that John had left behind (they were still working on the basics, but John's biscuits were almost palatable by this point), he'd finished two of Tommy's old dime novels, and he'd played solitaire until the very thought of shuffling another hand made him want to chuck the cards across the room.

Finally, in a fit of pique, Will balanced a book on his good knee and placed a sheet of paper on top.

He started out by drawing, but after a few awkward sketches he'd not only proven to himself that he had none of John's talent at this task, he also found that he didn't find it very satisfying.

Then he decided to write a letter to Tommy, maybe to send with the letter he'd written the day before. He managed the salutation before he acknowledged that nothing much had happened since the previous afternoon.

At a loss, and getting a bit desperate, Will wrote the first thing that came to mind:

_I first met John Anderson on a hot day in late summer._

Not a bad sentence, if he did say so himself. Maybe a little bland, though, so he added a bit more to it:

_I first met the notorious outlaw John Anderson on a scorching day in_

_late summer._

Much better. And mostly accurate; after all, he didn't know that John was John Anderson when they'd really met for the first time.

Will spent the rest of the afternoon describing John's re-entry into his life, including as much detail as he could remember about what he was doing before John arrived, John's behavior, even the food that they ate. The last didn't seem that important and, truth be told, he mostly guessed, but he remembered being a young lad in Philadelphia, soaking up all the information he could get about life on the western frontier. Even the most insignificant fact had given him a thrill.

By the time John returned home, well after dark, Will had filled several sheets of paper, front and back, with his cramped writing. He put them aside when John walked into his room, looking weary and frozen to the bone. "Are you all right?"

"Just tired," John said, sitting down on the edge of Will's bed. "You?"

"Ready to get out of bed." John looked like he wanted to protest, so Will added, "My leg is fine, and I need to use it or it'll just get worse."

John frowned but he must've seen the truth in Will's face, because he just sighed. "Need any help standing up?"

Will beamed. "No. Go sit down at the table – I'll get you something to eat."

As it turned out, dinner was nearly ready; John looked suspiciously at the pot bubbling away on the stove but didn't comment on the obvious fact that Will had clearly gotten out of the bed at _some_ point during the day. On the other hand, he didn't refuse the stew or the fresh bread Will had pulled out of the oven just an hour before. Will gave himself a much smaller serving: after years of working hard all day, three successive days of forced inactivity removed most of his appetite. 

Once John slowed down – about halfway through his second bowl – Will asked, "Will we need to go out tomorrow?"

John nodded. "I got them cut up, but we'll need to bring the wagon out to haul them away." He hesitated. "What about your leg?"

"I'll be all right if I'm careful," Will said. "It wasn't so cold today as yesterday, which'll help."

John didn't look convinced, but merely asked, "Any idea what to do with the meat?"

"There are some caves around there," Will offered. "Fairly close, but far enough away from the canyon that the bodies won't draw predators to the rest of the herd."

"We'll want to leave early," John said, finishing the last of his stew. "Six cows make a lot of meat."

"Dawn then," Will said, collecting the empty bowls.

"So what did you do today?" John asked as Will did the dishes.

"Nothing important.”

There was a pregnant pause. "Weren't you writing something when I came in?"

Will winced. "Maybe."

John suddenly appeared right next to Will, an amused look on his face. "Maybe?"

Will sighed. "All right, _yes_."

"I'm guessing it's not another letter to Tommy." Definitely amusement there.

"Not since yesterday." Off John's stare, he added, "I was bored. Thought I'd try to write a story."

"Can I read it?" John asked, sounding honestly interested and Will found that he was torn. On the one hand, John was featured in the story and the very idea of him reading it was nerve-wracking. On the other hand, Will found that a large part of him wanted to hear John's opinion of his writing.

"It's not fiction," Will hedged.

"It's not about me, is it?" John asked. He sounded like he was joking, but Will couldn't quite manage a smile. "Oh," John said. "Well then, you have to let me read it."

The man did have a point. "It's on my bed."

John wasted no time in heading to Will's bedroom and a short while later Will heard the sound of papers rustling. He focused all of his effort on scrubbing every last spot from the bread pans. Then he dried the dishes, wiped down the table, and even swept the floor.

When he had nothing left to do, Will reluctantly made his way to his bedroom. John was still in there, sitting on the bed, Will's story sitting next to him.

Will sat down on an empty bit of bed and pressed his lips together to keep from asking any questions.

Fortunately, John didn't keep him in suspense. "This is good, Will."

Will let out a sigh of relief. "You think so?"

"Very good. Better than those dime novels you read. This is your first story?" Will nodded, unable to keep from feeling a bit of pride. "You should write more. Maybe get them published."

"It's not that good," Will said quickly.

"It is," John answered. "Though obviously you aren't publishing this one. But maybe –" A wicked smile slowly spread across his face. "Maybe you should write a John Anderson adventure."

Will gaped at him. "...a what?"

"Why not?" John asked, suddenly full of energy again. "Books about outlaws sell like hotcakes. Billy the Kid, Jesse James, Doc Holliday: they all have their own series of books. Why not me?"

"You want me to write a series of stories," Will repeated. John nodded. "About you." He nodded again. "And get them published." John smiled. "Do they let authors write fictional stories about real people?" Will asked. "Isn't that libel?"

John waved his hand dismissively. "Tell them you interviewed me. They won't believe it, of course, but if the story's good enough, I’ll bet they don't care."

Will gaped at him some more.

"Why don't we talk about it tomorrow," John suggested, neatly gathering all of the papers into a pile. "We'll have plenty of time as we haul off those carcasses."

Will wanted to protest that he wasn't tired but it was clear that John's exhaustion had finally overwhelmed his enthusiasm. They worked together in silence to clear the bed and John barely managed a good night as he stumbled off to his own room.

Alone, Will stretched out on the bed and contemplated the ceiling. He found himself ridiculously happy at the moment, buoyed by John's obvious appreciation of his story. That John thought Will's writing was good enough to publish... his response exceeded Will's most hopeful expectations.

At the same time, he wasn't quite sure how he felt about writing a second story about John, this one of a time before they were together. Would he even be able to write about something he hadn't experienced? What if he couldn't? Would John be disappointed?

With an irritated huff, Will flipped over onto his side, punched his pillow, and tried to stop thinking.


	10. Chapter 10

For the next two weeks, The Story – it had earned its capital letters – became the central focus of Will's life. The first few days were just spent working out the details of the plot: John's first attempt to rob a stagecoach, where more had gone wrong than had gone right. "And the worst of it is, we didn't get a penny out of the mess," John said as he told the story. "Of course, as far as your story goes, we went off with as much gold as we could carry."

Will paused in the middle of loading a leg onto the wagon. "What?"

"Well, no one wants to read about an unsuccessful outlaw, do they?" John pointed out reasonably.

"You want me to lie?" Will asked incredulously. "What if the publisher finds out?"

"How would the publisher find out? It's not like there's anyone left to tell them otherwise – my gang's gone and the guards didn't know who we were. Though, now that I think about it, maybe you should have six guards instead of two. And you really don't need to mention the mountain lion."

"John –"

"No, I take that back. Keep the mountain lion, but have me kill it. After a long, dangerous hunt."

Will stared. "In the middle of a stagecoach robbery?"

John waved that off. "Before the robbery, then. When we are planning the job. Of course, you'll have to get rid of Stinky Pete, since he was the reason we got away. Maybe just make him a minor character. My second-in-command needs a better nickname than Stinky."

Will frowned. "Your second-in-command _was_ named Stinky."

"The publisher's not going to know that," John said.

Will gave up.

After they (mostly) came to an agreement on the details, Will began the arduous task of writing. This was made considerably more arduous by John continually asking if the story was finished yet and Will's replies to the negative grew increasingly acerbic.

At the same time, however, Will had to admit to himself that it was rather nice that John was so eager to read Will's story. Even nicer was the obvious enthusiasm with which John devoured each passage that Will let him read and the copious praise that followed.

Watching John reading on the other side of the table, Will was hit with an unexpected wave of affection. It had been a long time since he'd honestly wanted John to leave, but now he found himself hoping that John would stay.

The only dark spot during this time was that Will's nightmares had returned. The first came the night after he and John had loaded cartful after cartful of body parts into the wagon and hauled them off to be dumped in a cave so it wasn't particularly surprising that his dreams were of the same. Only this time the body parts were human. He started screaming when he found John's head on the pile.

As before, John didn't say anything to Will about the nightmares. Still, Will caught him staring several times over breakfast.

A fortnight after the first nightmare, Will jerked awake to find a body lying on top of his and a calloused hand pressed firmly against his mouth. He struggled for a few seconds until he \ recognized John's familiar features in the faint moonlight. "Shh," John said softly. "Shhhhhh."

Will stopped struggling. "Good," John said quietly. "Now listen carefully. You need sleep. _I_ need sleep. And neither of us is going to get any rest at all if you keep shouting.

"Now, there're a few ways for a man to really tire himself out but you're out of whisky and it's too late for farm work, so we're going with the third way. Unless you tell me to stop, I'm going to keep going. Do you understand?"

Will blinked.

"Close enough."

John's hand slid from Will's mouth down his body till it reached the lower buttons of the union suit Will typically wore at night. Will gasped softly as that hand brushed over the bulge growing at his groin and then gasped again as deft fingers flicked the buttons from their well-worn holes.

He should say something, Will knew that he should. This was the fourth time that intimacies were occurring between them, the second time with only him and John, and every single time Will had been silent and let John do all the work.

Yet he couldn't say anything as John's hand gripped his cock, as John's mouth sucked on his neck. It wasn't until he felt those calloused fingers brushing gently over his balls before moving further back that he found his voice.

"No," Will gasped, his voice shaking and desperate. "No, not that."

John didn't hesitate, just brought his hand back forward and stroked, oh God, stroked so sweet until Will was shuddering and his seed was spilling all over the bed.

"You'll – _we'll_ be able to sleep now," John murmured, wiping his hand clean on the blanket and shifting as if to move.

Will stopped him. He may not have started this but he'd taken his pleasure from John and he was a fair man. So he reached out and, for the first time in his life, he took another man's cock in his hand.

The angle was more difficult than he'd expected, but Will did what he could. John seemed to appreciate it, if the low moans were anything to judge by, and by the way he pressed his lips to Will's.

As they settled in together, too tired to bother cleaning up or to argue about who belonged where, Will knew that they weren't going to be able to avoid talking about this any longer. Tomorrow promised to be a very uncomfortable day.

But for now he was loose and drowsy and there was a warm body in his bed. He'd worry about the rest in the morning.

~~~

The next morning was awkward for Will. John, on the other hand, whistled as he moved around the kitchen, frying up bacon, eggs, and stale bread all in the same skillet. "You seem cheerful this morning," Will said as he accepted a heaping plate. Of all the cooking lessons Will had given him, only the breakfast ones seemed to stick.

John paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. "Any reason why I shouldn't be?"

"No," Will said quickly. Too quickly. He winced.

John put down his fork sharply. "You could've told me to stop. I would've stopped."

"I didn't want you to stop," Will said, his heart pounding in his chest. "Of course I didn't. I just... don't know what happens next."

Looking a little less thunderous, John picked up his fork. "What do you want to happen next?"

"I have no idea," Will admitted. "It's not as if we could get married or have children."

"You've been married," John pointed out. "You have a child."

On the one hand, that was true. On the other, it was entirely beside the point. Will scowled and poked at his eggs with his fork.

John sighed and put down his own fork. "Is it because of what Molly would think?"

Will shook his head. Molly would want him to be happy, that much he knew.

"Molly's family? That sister, maybe?"

Will pictured Mrs. Rutherford's face if she knew what he and John had done last night. "Actually, that would be a point in favor of doing it again."

John smiled and relaxed a little. "Didn't you like the way it felt?" he asked, sounding not at all worried about how Will would answer.

"'Course I liked it," Will said. "What's not to like?"

"Well, then," John said, reaching over to steal a piece of bacon off Will's plate. "Wanna do it again tonight?"

Will huffed out a small laugh, despite himself. "Maybe," he said, digging in to his food.

John just smirked in reply.

After breakfast, Will got back to The Story. He was close enough that he thought he might be able to finish it by dinnertime, even if this part of The Story was pretty much entirely fiction.

The stagecoach was stopped and John's gang was storming it when John suddenly said, from just over Will's shoulder, "Wouldn't it sound more impressive if I went by myself?"

Will twisted his head to glare up at him. "What?" John asked.

"Maybe you should go check on the cattle."

"I just went out yesterday."

"A lot can happen in a day," Will said earnestly.

"Didn't you tell me you once went three months without checking the herd?"

Will did the only thing he could: he lied without shame. "Completely untrue."

John snorted, but went and got his coat. "I'll be back in a couple of hours."

Will just nodded in reply; he was already busy writing as fast as he possibly could.

By the time John returned, bearing a couple of dripping canteens, Will had managed to whittle the number of gang members attacking the stage down to two, John himself and Handsome Hal, the replacement for Stinky Pete. Considering that John had demanded a full eight guards on the stage, it required some creative gunplay to have only two men take it down: John was now equipped with a pair of pistols; Hal had two guns on his belt, another down his boot, and dagger up his sleeve; and both of them were rather remarkably resistant to bullets. Still, it was done and John was right: publishers didn't seem to require a high level of realism in their frontier stories.

Besides, it was rather fun writing coming up with unique and semi-embarrassing objects for John and Hal to use for shelter.

John seemed to agree, considering his quiet chuckles as he read his way through the entire story. He laughed out loud near the end, probably at the point where Handsome Hal took cover behind a cactus, only to trip on a rock and get some prickles in rather uncomfortable places. Will had done a lot of implying rather than stating exactly where those places were, but Hal did spend the rest of the gunfight walking with a marked hobble.

"This is brilliant, Will," he said as he finished the last page and carefully stacked the papers together. "Anyone who refuses to publish this is clearly in the wrong business."

"Thanks," Will said, a warm, gentle pleasure bubbling up in his chest. "It was fun."

"I think you should send it off tomorrow," John said decisively. "It's warmer today and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. You shouldn't have any problem riding into town."

"I don't know where to send it," Will pointed out. "Do you know any publishers?"

John frowned thoughtfully, then went into his room. A few minutes later he came out holding a couple of magazines and one of Tommy's books. "Here," he said, handing the pile over to Will. "Try these."

A bit skeptical, Will opened up the first magazine, the _North American Review_. He vaguely remembered Molly getting this from her sister and not being terribly impressed. A quick perusal of the pages didn't provide any submission information.

The second magazine, the _Atlantic Monthly_ , was much more helpful. Not only was it full of stories, it had an advertisement right there in the back telling writers how to send their stories in. It even said "new writers encouraged", which gave Will a thrill of hope. "I think I'll send it to this one."

John took the magazine and glanced through it. "Looks good. But maybe you should make a second copy of the story, just in case."

Will groaned at the prospect of more writing (and boring writing at that), but saw the logic of the idea. Besides, this way he could produce a clean copy to send in, without all of his errors and edits.

John offered to cook while Will wrote and so they had breakfast for supper that night. As the evening grew long and the candles grew short, John kept Will silent company, sketching quietly on the opposite side of the table. Will was grateful for both the company and the silence; copying wasn't difficult work, but it was boring and the longer he was at it, the more mistakes he kept making. Without John's silent support, Will was sure he would've given up for the night and thus lost what was potentially his last window to ride into town till spring.

It was late when he finally decided the copy was clean enough to go out as it was, and the pile of wax sitting next to his manuscript told of the long hours he'd spent at this task. He stretched, enjoying the pull and bend of muscles too long held still, and glanced up at John with a smile.

"Done?" John asked, setting aside his own paper.

"Yep. I'll head out first thing tomorrow."

There was a silence that quickly grew awkward. "Ready for bed?" John finally suggested.

Oh. In all of the excitement of finishing The Story, Will had almost forgotten that this question was coming. Almost, but not quite. Apparently he'd been thinking this over in the back of his mind, not really realizing it until now, when he found himself answering without hesitation, "Yes."

John grinned at him, a quick, happy flash. "Go ahead. I'll clean up and meet you in there."

Will narrowed his eyes suspiciously as they usually didn’t bother to clean up anything other than dishes – d a necessity if they didn't want mice infesting the house. On the other hand, he did appreciate the opportunity to avoid the awkwardness of undressing in front of John, so in the end he said nothing as he retreated to the other room.

A good few minutes later, Will was lying under the covers in the middle of the bed, feeling slightly ridiculous. And freezing. He'd opted to leave off his long johns since he knew how warm the bed got with two people, but the bed was cold from having been empty all day and the blankets weren't really thick enough to keep a naked man warm. 

He was just on the verge of either shouting for John to hurry up or to redress in his long johns when the man himself stepped into the room. He set a small bottle on the lamp table and Will eyed it as John set to stripping himself down with his usual efficiency. "What's that for?"

"Remember Suzie?"

"I'm not likely to forget Suzie," Will said dryly. "Is that what she needed to be prepared?"

"Part of it." John slid off his long johns and looked up. Whatever he saw in Will's face made him smile wryly. "Don't worry, it's not for you."

"It's not?" Will blurted. "But –"

"I told you a man can enjoy this sort of thing but not if he's rushed into it." He lifted the blanket and slid between the sheets. "I prefer not to rush," he growled, taking Will's mouth in a fiery kiss.

Will gave himself a half-second to wonder if John had been rushed his first time, then put his focus back on the kiss. He gave back as good as he got; he was tired of being caught continually off-guard by John's actions while in bed and he was determined to at least be an equal participant this time around.

Said resolution lasted until the moment that John took the bottle off of the table and dribbled some oil on Will's stomach. "Wha–?" Will started to ask as John coated a finger in the oil.

"Trust me," John said with a wicked grin and with no further warning than that, he leaned down and took Will's prick in his mouth.

Will damn near bucked him off he arched so high. A moment later he came crashing down, swearing profusely as his bad leg exploded in pain. For an indefinite period of time he was aware of nothing but agony as he curled protectively over his leg, praying for the pain to die down to bearable levels.

He came back to himself slowly, aware of arms wrapped tight around his body and a soft, worried voice in his ear murmuring, "Breathe. It'll be all right, just keep breathing."

"S-sorry," Will managed, his voice raspy.

"It was my fault," John said, still holding Will tight. "I didn't think about your leg."

"It's not your leg," Will pointed out, his voice a bit stronger. "Not your job to worry about it."

"It is when we're together like this," John said, his voice deadly serious. He pulled back. "Want to stop?"

Will shook his head. "Just give me a few minutes. I'm –" He shrugged and glance down to his soft prick.

"I can help with that," John said with a passable attempt at a smile. "Just be sure to hold still," he added as he slid back down on the bed.

This time Will was ready and his need was less urgent, so when John took him in his mouth again, he managed not to buck up. Instead, he flopped back in the bed and just savored the hot, wet heat surrounding him, the buildup of heat in his cock and balls, the stretch of his prick growing longer and harder, filling John's mouth.

Suddenly, that glorious mouth pulled away and Will made a helpless noise of protest. "Shh," John said, as he stood up on his knees, rolling his fingers in the remnants of oil on Will's stomach. "You'll like this, I promise."

Then he reached back behind him and Will's cock twitched as he realized what John was doing, that this was the other part of preparation. "Oh, God," Will breathed. "I never – I never –"

"I know," John said, kneeing himself forward until he was just a little in front of Will's groin. "Try not to move too much," he added as he reached back again, this time to take Will's cock in one oily hand and hold it in place as he pressed back against it.

Will managed to stay still, but it was a near thing. John's body was hot and so tight that it hovered on the edge of painful and Will found himself fighting back orgasm as John braced his hands on Will's chest and, with a look of intense concentration on his face, pushed himself down on Will's cock.

A high keening noise filled the air as Will thrust up and it was only through sheer luck that he braced himself with his good leg as he did so. John grunted and started to move in counterpoint to Will, one hand still balanced on Will's chest, the other running over Will's face and upper body, as if mapping his features. 

Just as Will was starting to reach his peak, John reached down to his own cock and began jerking it, his eyes locked on Will's the entire time. Will swore and thrust up hard and froze as his seed spilled forth. A few jerks later John followed, spraying Will's chest and chin with streaks of milky white.

With a gusty sigh, John fell forward onto Will and for a few seconds they lay huddled together, a limp sweaty pile. Then John started shivering and Will started struggling a bit to breathe and some rearrangement followed that left them lying next to each other under the blankets. "So?" John asked.

"We should do it again," Will said, already half asleep.

John smiled smugly. "Knew you'd like it."

Will didn't reply, just curled up close to him and let himself drift off.


	11. Chapter 11

The next morning, Will woke much later than usual, but still before John. He remained still for a few seconds, wondering if it was at all possible to get out of bed without jostling John, who was closest to the door. Unfortunately, with his bad leg the answer was a definite 'no'. "John," he said, rolling over and shaking John's shoulder gently.

John's eyes snapped open and his body went rigid as he quickly scanned the room. Will was impressed. His idea of waking up quickly was to remember not to lead with his bad leg when dragging himself out of bed.

Apparently deciding that he was safe, John relaxed a fraction. "Everything all right?" he asked, his voice still a bit wary.

After the way Will'd been behaving the last few months, he really couldn't blame John for being cautious. Half in apology, half for reassurance, Will leaned forward and placed a quick kiss on John's lips. "Everything's fine," he said, pulling back before John could deepen the kiss. "But I need to get to town. No telling when bad weather will blow in again."

John looked a little sulky, but he could hardly argue the point. "I'll fix you something to eat," he said, rolling out of bed.

Will waited till he dressed and left the room before pushing himself out of bed. Compared to those first few months, he was pretty quick about getting himself ready in the morning but seeing John's graceful movements as he pulled on his clothes somehow made Will feel nearly as awkward as he'd been right after the accident.

Still, he'd lived with his bad leg for a long time now and soon enough he was dressed and in the kitchen, carefully wrapping his manuscript in a towel. He'd buy some brown paper at the store and address the package there.

By the time he'd packed away everything he'd need for the trip, including the letters he'd written to Tommy over the previous few weeks, John had chipped beef and toast on the table. They ate in silence until John said, "While you're in town, you should pick up some more fruit and nuts." Will stared at him. "I like fruitcake," John said defensively, "and this is the best time of year to find the ingredients to make it."

Will shook his head but promised to buy fruitcake ingredients.

"And some chocolate, if they have it," John added.

"What's wrong with the cocoa?" Will asked.

"Not for drinking," John said. "For eating." He smiled a bit wistfully. "When I was in San Francisco, I used to have some chocolate from Ghirardelli's every day."

"I'll see what they have," Will said doubtfully. "But they don't usually carry chocolate at the general store. It melts too easily." Though, now that the idea was put in his head, he wouldn't mind having some chocolate himself. It'd only recently gotten cheap enough to buy back east just before he left, and he'd only had a chance to try it once. It'd been almost as bitter as coffee, but he had liked the taste it left in his mouth.

"And paper," John added. "For all those adventures you're going to be writing."

"I'm not bringing the wagon," Will reminded him.

"You can use my saddlebags," John said dismissively. "There'll be plenty of room."

Will sighed and started eating faster.

~~~

The town was busier than Will had expected – apparently he wasn't the only one taking advantage of the unseasonably warm spell. Fortunately, the bank was fairly quiet, as usual, and Will was pleased to discover that the money from his check had finally come. Though he had plenty of money from John, it felt deeply satisfying to walk out of the bank with his own money in his pocket.

As he expected, the general store was especially crowded so Will browsed as he waited for Mrs. Potter to be free. He'd stocked up on food for the winter the month before but there were some other items that they were running low on, including paper, ink, and candles. He considered the lamp oil but the prices were especially dear this time of year, and so he ended up buying another box of candles instead. He added coffee and a couple of new books to the pile and then hovered over the gloves and hats, indecisive. Christmas was coming up soon, and he wanted to buy John a present. On the other hand, John wouldn't have the opportunity to shop and Will didn't want to embarrass him by giving John a gift when he wouldn't be able to reciprocate.

Still, Will really liked giving gifts at Christmastime and he didn't need something in return. Maybe if he explained that to John...

He hadn't decided on a course of action when Mrs. Potter said, "Will, are you ready?"

Abandoning the gloves – John had a pair anyway and they were nicer than the ones available in the store – Will hurried over. He piled his new supplies on the counter and then rested the manuscript next to it. "I'd like to mail this," he whispered, feeling a bit foolish but knowing how gossip spread in this town. Mrs. Potter was bad enough; Mrs. Smith, who was loitering over in the corner, was ten times worse. "Do you have any brown paper?"

"Of course, dear," she said, ripping a piece off of the roll she had behind the desk and handing it over. Her eyes sparked with curiosity and she blatantly tried to sneak a peek at the manuscript as Will wrapped it. He thought he was successful in foiling her efforts, but there was no way to hide the address as he borrowed a pen and inkwell and carefully copied it from the magazine.

"Oh, did you write a story?" she asked brightly and easily loud enough for Mrs. Smith to hear. Will stifled a groan.

Unfortunately, there was no real way to deny it, so he merely answered, "Yes, ma'am."

"I didn't know you were of a literary bent," she hinted.

He attempted a smile. "You know how quiet those winter nights can get."

As he hoped, she translated 'quiet' as 'lonely' and patted him on the hand. "I think it's a wonderful idea," she said bracingly. "You know how those folks back east love our western tales. And who knows – maybe you'll be famous someday."

"Maybe," he said noncommittally, handing over the addressed package and Tommy's letters to be placed in the day's mail. Mrs. Potter handed him a couple of letters in return and Will tucked them into his coat, close to his heart. 

He was about to leave, relieved to have completed the dreaded task, when he remembered John's request. "You wouldn't happen to have any chocolate, would you? And some more candied fruit?"

Her eyes lit up as she began piling treats on the countertop. It took some protesting but by pointing out that he didn't have his wagon and that, as much as an apple pie would be tasty, it would hardly survive a trip in his saddlebags, Will managed to escape the store without too much more than he had intended to buy. 

He didn't manage to find a gift for John, however. After loading his purchases into his saddlebags, he looked around the town, hoping for inspiration. His eyes settled on the closest saloon, just a few stores down.

While Molly hadn't been an advocate of the temperance movement, she didn't like having alcohol in the house except for medicinal purposes. One of her grandfathers had been known to be violent after dipping too deep into the bottle and he'd made a lasting impression. As a result, Will had gotten into the habit of going to a bar for his drinks after work. After their move out west, with money being so tight, he'd nearly stopped drinking altogether. 

Money wasn't tight anymore, though, and Will remembered the enjoyment John had found in that bottle Will had bought in Bisbee. Plus it was a gift they could both share, so it wouldn't signify if John didn't have a gift in return.

Ten minutes and one carefully ignored barmaid later, Will was heading back to the ranch. As he rode along, he found himself whistling. Really, he couldn't remember the last time he was so eager to return home.

~~~

The next couple of months were a time of intense experimentation and creativity for Will. The creativity came as he continued writing John's adventures, this time in the form of a novel that was at least one third truthful. The experimentation came at night as he and John explored all of the possible ways they could touch each other, inside and out, often ways that Will had never before imagined.

The night that he'd first taken John into himself had been one of the most revelatory of his life – and also one of the most painful as his leg had started cramping just at the moment of orgasm and didn't stop for nearly a minute, leaving Will full-body sore and watery-eyed with pain. They never did quite find a position that would allow John to penetrate Will without significant discomfort and it was rarely better when John was on the receiving end, so the majority of their intimacies involved the use of mouths and hands. Will certainly had no complaints.

There were no more direct assaults on the cattle that winter, but several times John reported downed fencing and dead animals clearly left behind to indicate that people were trespassing on Will's land. Once he came home positively shaking with anger, a bear trap hanging from one hand. It'd taken every ounce of persuasion that Will had to keep John from going out with a rifle to explain to Grady exactly why he should leave Will's ranch alone.

Will was furious about the trap, of course; if John hadn't seen it on the trail it could have easily snapped Old Faithful's leg. He wasn't happy about the damage to his fences or his wildlife either, but at the same time he had to admit that he wasn't as outraged as he once would've been. Ever since John took over the day-to-day care of the cattle, Will had found it difficult to retain much connection to the animals. They were there on the ranch and they were adequately taken care of and thus there was no need to worry or even really care about their wellbeing. As much as he'd always dreamed of owning his own cattle ranch, it had been a dream he'd shared with Molly. With her passing, so went most of his interest in ranching.

He did enjoy writing, more than he would've ever imagined. Each day, he spent three or four hours hunched over the table, crafting his tale word by laborious word. The beginning of the novel came fast and furiously but now that the initial excitement of planning the plot was past, he found the words came much more slowly. Sometimes it took a whole day for him to fill a single page, which was frustrating. Still, deep down, he enjoyed every moment of the process.

A not-insignificant portion of his writing pleasure came from using the fountain pen that John had given him for Christmas. He'd never had a fountain pen before and he had to admit that it was much cleaner and easier to use than a metal quill and an inkpot. Still, it was also a source of minor frustration: no matter how often Will asked, John absolutely refused to tell him where the pen came from.

Will's gift to John was the best bottle of Jack Daniels the saloon offered as well as a bottle of rum called Bacardi that was apparently winning medals in Chicago. The saloon had specially ordered the rum for a patron who had inconsiderately died before the alcohol arrived and had been happy to give it to Will at a reduced price. Will and John both enjoyed the whisky, but agreed that the rum wasn't worth the two bits Will had paid.

Overall, Will and John were getting on remarkably well as the winter months dragged on, but the long nights and close quarters took their toll. By mid-February they were snapping at each other for minor offenses, like not going far enough from the house to empty the chamber pot or staying up late and using up one of their dwindling supply of candles. It didn't help that their wood and food supplies were getting low; Will hadn't had to buy winter supplies for two people in a long time and he'd forgotten how much a second person could eat.

Finally, March rolled around, bearing slightly above freezing weather and a welcome break from the winter storms. Unfortunately, March also brought the first of the spring floods, and John and Will ended up spending an entire muddy, miserable day rescuing chickens from a nearly submerged chicken coop. Fortunately, the pigs were on higher ground; after being fed as much beef as they could stomach all winter, they were the fattest hogs Will had ever seen. Frankly, he didn't think that he and John would even be able to lift the pregnant sow; the massive creature could barely lift herself anymore.

The day after the chicken rescue, Will announced that he was going into town. John looked mulish, probably because he was stuck hiding at the ranch as he had been for the last nine months, and would be for the foreseeable future unless he wanted to risk arrest and eventual hanging. Will, taking pity on the man, offered to bring back as much chocolate and whisky as he could fit in one of his saddlebags. The other was reserved for flour and sugar and coffee, though he wouldn't be able to buy more than a few days worth of each at a time until the road to town dried up enough for him to use the wagon.

Neither of them mentioned Will's manuscript but Will doubted he was the only one eager to see if anything were waiting for him in the post.

~~~

Will barely stepped foot inside the general store before Mrs. Potter was calling to him, waving a packet of mail above her head. "Mr. Connors," she called. "I was so hoping you'd come in today. You have mail!"

Considering the volume of Mrs. Potter's voice, it wasn't much of a surprise when every head in the store turned to stare at Will.

He ducked his head down and did his damnedest not to blush as he handed over a fistful of letters and a shopping list that he and John had written that morning. He got a bundle of envelopes in return and he flipped through the letters while Mrs. Potter bustled about the store collecting goods. Three of them were from Tommy and he set those aside for later. One was from Mrs. Rutherford, probably to complain, again, about how his correspondence to Tommy dropped off during the winter, despite the fact that he'd explained in careful detail about how dangerous it was for a man to ride into town in the uncertain weather of the winter months. He set that letter aside to skim through and then use for tinder.

The last letter was from _Atlantic Monthly_.

Will's hand shook as he saw the return address and he considered opening the letter right there, but the poorly concealed curiosity surrounding him made him tuck the letter away with the others. He could read it on the way home.

Suddenly desperate to be gone, Will waited impatiently as Mrs. Potter finished his order. "Get anything good in the mail?" she asked in a passing attempt at a casual voice.

"Nothing too exciting," Will lied. "Only three letters from Tommy."

Mrs. Potter was immediately sympathetic, which gave Will a pang of guilt. Still, he wouldn't have to lie if she weren't so nosey. "You know how children are," she said in a comforting tone. "Always too busy to remember those that raised them."

Now Will felt like a complete bastard, as he suddenly remembered that Mrs. Potter had a son of her own, a son who'd gone to California for the gold rush and had never stepped foot in the town again. Needing to make amends, he leaned in and murmured, "I don't want to open the letter where everyone can see, but I promise you'll be the first person in town to hear if there's any news to tell."

Mrs. Potter's cheeks pinked and her eyes sparkled. "Thank you, dear," she murmured before surprising him by adding loudly, "You hurry on home now. I have a feeling the weather's going to turn ugly."

Will smirked as the men and women loitering in the store suddenly began moving much more quickly.

Once outside, he made his way to the saloon; whatever was in that letter, Will was sure it would go down better with a bit of whiskey.

~~~

Mrs. Potter's prediction turned out to be uncannily accurate: by the time Will limped out of the saloon with several bottles in hand, a cloud bank was looming on the horizon and moving in fast. Swearing under his breath, Will loaded his saddlebags as fast as he could and hauled himself up into the saddle. Brownie picked up on his unease and was trotting out of town before Will even managed to get his other foot in the stirrup.

With one eye on the weather and the other on the trail, Will had no eyes left for his letter. That didn't stop him from thinking about it every step of the trip, though, and by the time he pulled Brownie to a stop in front of the house, he was dreaming of being the next Mark Twain while at the same time fully convinced that the letter contained a rejection.

John must've heard Brownie riding up, because he stepped outside as Will performed his usual, graceless slide out of the saddle. "So?" he asked.

"Here," Will said, thrusting the letter at him. "Open it."

Looking confused and more than a little wary, John accepted the envelope. "You haven't opened it yet?"

Will winced, feeling ridiculous. "I can't."

Now wearing a skeptical expression, John shrugged and slit open the envelope. Pulling out the letter, he read it to himself silently.

"Well?" Will asked when he couldn't take the suspense any longer. "What does it say?"

John frowned a bit as he read out loud:

_Dear Mr. Connors,_

_Thank you for submitting your work to Atlantic Monthly. At this time, we are not accepting work from new authors; however, I did pass on your story to Mr. Will Adams, a colleague of mine at Beadle and Adams. His response is dictated below:_

_"I was quite impressed with your writing, Mr. Connors. The story is too short for me to publish in my novel series, but I am prepared to pay up to a dollar per page should you be willing to expand the story. Please respond to the address listed below."_

"Sincerely, so on and so forth," John finished.

Will stared at him. "A dollar a page."

"Not bad to start with," John said. "Once you become popular, I'm sure you can ask for a lot more."

"Do you think he means printed or written pages?" Will asked. "I already have nearly a hundred written pages in the new novel. That's maybe fifty printed pages."

"I'm guessing he'll pay whichever gives you less," John said wryly. "You'd probably be better off negotiating a flat rate."

Will tried to imagine negotiating anything when letters could be in transit for a week or more. It was a daunting prospect, especially when he considered that a letter lost in the mail could ruin any chances he might have of becoming a published author.

A snowflake landing on his nose broke his concentration and he glanced up to find the sky full of ominous clouds. "Let's talk about this after I take care of Brownie," he suggested. John nodded in agreement and took the saddlebags into the house while Will led his horse into the barn.

By the time Will finished tending the horse, the snow was coming down heavily and Will was grateful that he'd come home as quickly as he did. Late winter storms like these tended to produce a lot of snow and while said snow usually melted quite quickly, an unwary traveler could easily be lost in the blizzard.

Inside, he found John reading through the novel manuscript, smiling at something on the page. Will crossed his arms. "You know, you're almost as nosy as Mrs. Potter," he said, though his annoyed tone wasn't very convincing.

"It wouldn't take much to put your other story at the beginning of this novel," John said, ignoring Will's comment. "A prologue, maybe, or just use it as the first chapter."

Will dropped his arms and sat down at the table. "Probably make it too long for a dime novel, though."

"So end the book earlier," John said with a shrug. "These types of books are usually ongoing series, right?"

"They can be," Will said thoughtfully. "Depends on how popular the main character is."

"Trust me," John said with a smirk. "John Anderson is going to be _immensely_ popular."

Will just shook his head, not quite able to hold back a smile.


	12. Chapter 12

That night, Will found himself unable to sleep, his mind running over and over his dilemma as he stared up at the ceiling of the house. He would've preferred to get out of bed and do his thinking in the rocking chair that sat near the stove in the kitchen, but he was firmly held down in bed by a warm arm banded across his stomach. Unlike Molly, who had preferred her own space on the bed, John liked to be as close to Will as possible and usually accomplished this by lying half on top of him.

Thus he was stuck on the bed. Staring. At the ceiling. Will shifted a bit uncomfortably under the arm and considered trying to wriggle his way out. He shifted again.

"Whas wrong?" John's blurry voice slurred.

Will froze. "Nothing."

John snorted and flopped over. "Try again," he said, sounding only marginally more awake.

Will sighed, but he didn't try to avoid the question a second time. "What do you think of cattle?"

John twisted his head around to stare at Will. "What?"

"Cattle," Will repeated patiently. "What do you think of them? Do you like raising them?"

"You have cattle," John said slowly. "So I help raise them."

"But if I weren't in the picture, would you still want to work with cattle?"

John turned his whole body this time. "I'm not a poor man, Will. If I'd wanted to raise cattle, I would've bought a ranch."

Which begged the question of why John had chosen to hide out in _this_ ranch but Will was slowly becoming accustomed to the idea that, even in the beginning, John had come to the ranch for _Will_. "But the chickens. I know you like the chickens."

"I like fresh eggs," John corrected him. "And, eventually, fresh chicken."

Will took a deep breath. "So if I decided I wanted to do something else, something that had nothing to do with cattle, you wouldn't mind?"

"Something like move back east and become a world famous writer?" John suggested wryly. Will stared at him. "You weren't being particularly subtle."

"And?"

John shrugged. "I've never been out east. What's it like?"

"Crowded," Will said. "It's easy for a person to get lost in the masses."

As he'd hoped, John looked intrigued by that statement. "How lost?"

"I never saw a wanted poster in the twenty-three years I lived there."

"Is it expensive?" Definite interest there.

"Lodging is," Will said. "But food is cheaper." He leaned in a bit and added persuasively. "Because lodging is so expensive, it's common for two men to share rooms or even a house."

John smiled. "You do make a good argument," he said, leaning forward for a kiss.

For a few minutes they moved against each other leisurely, not trying to reach their peak, just enjoying the feel of skin on skin. John pulled back first. "What about the ranch? I thought it was your dream."

"It was my dream with Molly," Will said. "Working with animals was in her blood and I desperately wanted to be a cowboy. Buying a ranch was the perfect solution. Now that she's gone, though, the west isn't what I thought it would be." He leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, "I miss water." John raised his eyebrows, so Will explained, "Not the muddy creeks they call rivers here, but real water. There's a river that runs through Philadelphia that's a half a mile wide." Now John looked outright skeptical. "Truly," Will said. "It's called the Schuylkill River. And it's nothing compared to the Susquehanna, which is almost a mile across where it passes Harrisburg."

"With rivers like that they must never run out of water," John said, his voice nearly reverent. Everyone out west knew the value of water.

"Never," Will agreed. "The rivers might get low, the smallest of the creeks might dry up and people might have to walk a bit to get a drink, but no one is ever in danger of dying of thirst. When the rivers are high, you can get a hot bath for a nickel, and Tommy says that Philadelphia has running water now, where you just turn a knob and water comes rushing out."

"Sounds too good to be true," John said.

"Well, I only have Tommy's word that all of Philadelphia has running water now; when I left only hotels and rich people had it. But I've seen the rivers myself."

John mulled over that for a few minutes. Will tried to be patient. "How much more expensive are the lodgings?"

Will considered. "Really, it's the land that's so expensive. With the money we have right now, we could buy a mansion on a small lot with plenty of money left over for your scholarship."

"And the ranch?"

Will winced. He'd hoped John would forget this question, futile though that hope had been. "As it happens, I already have someone interested in buying the ranch."

John snarled. "Absolutely not."

"He'll get it anyway if I don't sell it before I go," Will pointed out in his most reasonable tone. "And no one else around here is likely to want to buy it, knowing that Grady has his eye on the place."

"So advertise out east," John said. "Isn't that how your father-in-law heard about this place?"

"That could take months, maybe years." Will caught John's eye and held it. "I don't want to spend another winter here, John. I don't want to do another cattle drive. And I sure as hell don't want to brand the calves, because I'll have to bring in outside help and I don't think you'll much like spending three days in the cellar."

The last argument was the one that made John close his mouth, though he was frowning furiously. "Do we need to decide right now?"

"No," Will answered. "But soon."

John nodded and turned back over, facing away from Will for the first time since they started spending the night together. Will frowned at John's back for a moment, then carefully scooted forward until he was flush against John's backside, his arm draped over John's stomach.

~~~

It was two days later, just when Will was starting to think he wasn't going to get an answer without pushing, that John came in from tending the cattle to say, "I've got an idea."

"What kind of idea?" Will asked absently from his writing spot on the table.

John reached over his shoulder and plucked the pen from his fingers. "An idea about the ranch."

Will stopped glaring. "Other than selling it to Grady?"

"Yep," John said. "I think you should sell it to me, instead."

Will suddenly felt cold, as if his blood had turned to ice. "I thought... you mean you wouldn't be going east with me?"

"Of course I'm going with you," John said, as if Will were stupid to suggest otherwise. Will felt his panic starting to recede. "But I was thinking, why put money into a scholarship that would just help a few boys with book learning when there are so many more useful things they could learn?"

"Like ranching," Will guessed.

"Exactly," John said proudly. "Still have 'em learn to read and write of course, and the math they'd need to run a ranch, but they'd also learn to ride and tend animals and maybe even to grow some of their own food."

"That's _perfect_ ," Will exclaimed. "I would've never thought of that, but it's perfect." Then he realized something. "Oh, but the amount of building it would take, not to mention who would run it—"

"We'd have to hire someone to arrange all of that," John said. "Someone with experience running a business, but also experience with children. Someone who is respected enough in town that Grady would have no choice but to stop his harassment. Someone who could serve as both teacher and administrator, at least until we could hire someone else. And if that someone had a passing affection for you, well, it couldn't hurt."

Will had started to smile halfway through that speech and by the end he was outright grinning. "Mrs. Potter?"

"Think she'd agree to it?" John asked.

Will considered the way that Mrs. Potter had taken care of him when he was ill, the way she mothered him when he went to town, and the way that she had doted on Tommy and the other boys in town. "Yeah," Will said. "I think she would. She's run that store by herself since her husband died, so she should have no problems overseeing the building of a school."

"What about the store?"

"Mr. Potter had a sister and I think all her kids are grown now. She might be willing to take over the store."

"A small school," John said, his gaze lengthening out as he turned his eye inward. "No more than three or four students at the start, so she could use this house as an administrative building, classroom, and mess hall, and build a cabin for the boys to sleep in."

"With areas designated for future cabins as the school grows," Will suggested.

"Exactly," John said. "There's plenty of open land behind the house that could be future sites for more cabins. Plus a real classroom and mess hall, when the time comes."

"A place where orphans can learn to raise chickens and then get to eat all of the eggs they produce," Will said.

John smiled at him. "Does that mean you're willing to sell?"

"Hell," Will said. "I'll _give_ the land to you."

John shook his head, though he was still smiling. "I appreciate the gesture, but I think it's best if Mrs. Potter buys the land from you on behalf of a wealthy, anonymous benefactor."

Will frowned just a bit. "Wealthy men might support other people's projects anonymously, but they wouldn't start a school and not put their name on it. People are going to be suspicious if the benefactor is completely unknown."

"Then he'll just have to be suitably mysterious, instead," John said easily. He grinned. "So, what do you think our wealthy philanthropist should be named?"

After several hours of increasingly ridiculous names, they finally settled on Clarence Merriweather (the Third, John insisted), a man who recently came into wealth after the death of his merchant father and who had decided that a vocational school would be the perfect way to honor his father's memory. Sadly, Clarence's poor health prevented his traveling out west to find a suitable location himself but through his acquaintance with Mr. and Mrs. Rutherford, he heard about Will's parcel of land and asked them to make an offer to Will on his behalf.

At that point they had a brief squabble over the value of the ranch.

"A thousand is perfectly reasonable – it's more than I paid for it when I first moved out here."

"But you have to include the cattle and the chickens and the hogs in the price, not to mention the improvements."

"Fine, then, two thousand."

"Five thousand."

"Five thousand!"

"You said land is more expensive out east. Clarence would think he's being sneaky to buy your entire ranch for only five thousand dollars."

"Clarence isn't real!"

John abruptly sobered. "Isn't he?"

Will eyed him, wondering how quickly madness could descend.

"I'm in earnest," John said. "Will it be possible for me to start this school and fund it indefinitely without ever showing my face to someone?"

"You could have a lawyer act on your behalf."

"But I'd still have to hire a lawyer," John pointed out. "And if we're doing this from Philadelphia, then I'll need to be able to send checks, which means I'll need a bank account. Even in a city, a man who walks into a bank and deposits ten thousand dollars in cash isn't going to be quickly forgotten."

"I could do it for you," Will offered.

"Open a bank account in another man's name?" John asked pointedly. "Don't you think they'd find that a bit strange?"

Unfortunately they would, and while long-lived gossip about a mysterious man's mysterious past wouldn't matter to a true recluse that had nothing to hide, it wasn't something that John could risk. "So you plan to become Clarence?"

John eyebrow twitched. "Put it that way, I think I'm more of a Charles."

"Charles Merriweather?"

"The Third," John insisted.

They spent the rest of the evening composing a letter, one that Mrs. Rutherford supposedly included in her letter to Will. The end result was pompous, pedantic, and just a bit silly and Will derived a great amount of amusement from trying to imagine John playing the part in real life.

"I don't have to act like this in real life," John shot back. "Mrs. Potter isn't ever going to meet me in person."

Will just nodded in reply, and immediately began plotting a story in which John played Clarence Merriweather the way Clarence was _meant_ to be played.

That night as they lay together in bed, John asked gently, "Have you decided what to do about Tommy?"

Will sighed and tucked his head a little closer. "The Rutherfords can give him things that I can't."

"Money's not an object," John said firmly.

"Not things that can be bought with money," Will clarified. "They have connections, influence. As their ward, there's no school in the world he couldn't attend."

"I thought the east was full of good schools," John said. "Why would he have to leave the country?"

"Because he's a lot like his dad," Will said. "Wanting adventure and to see the world. The west was enough of the world for me; I think Tommy's destined to go a lot further."

John cupped Will's cheek with his hand, brushing his eyebrow with his thumb. "At least you'll see him when we move to Philadelphia."

Will closed his eyes, savoring the touch, even as he let out a resigned sigh. "Actually, I don't think we should move to Philadelphia."

John stiffened. "What?"

"The chances of anyone recognizing you back east are so very small. Most of the people you've actually met are either dead or on the west coast. Except one person."

"You really think Tommy would turn me in?" John asked with a frown.

Will half-shrugged. "The Tommy who lived with me? No. But that was four years ago. I can't make any assumptions about what he'd do now. And I couldn't bear to have to choose between you."

John nodded, and resumed stroking Will's eyebrow. "So where do you think we should move?"

"How do you feel about Massachusetts?" Will asked with a hesitant smile.

John's eyebrow quirked. "Massachusetts?"

"Specifically, Boston." 

John's eyebrow went higher. "Why Boston?"

"It's close enough to visit Tommy as often as I want," Will said promptly. "But far enough away that he wouldn't visit unexpectedly. Plus, there are a lot of writers in Massachusetts."

John smiled a little at Will's off-handed tone as he added that last sentence. "That sounds nice."

Will shrugged a little, feeling a hint of shyness. "So?"

"I think Boston sounds perfect," John said, leaning in to claim a kiss. Will grinned and let himself get lost in the feel of lips on lips.

~~~

The next day, while Will went into town to speak to Mrs. Potter, John left to start collecting all of his money caches. The plan was to do so in several steps, to limit the amount of money John was carrying on him at any point in time. Frankly, Will just did his best to not think too hard about John riding around the lawless countryside with tens of thousands of dollars in his pocket.

Mrs. Potter looked surprised, but happy, to see Will enter the store. "Letter for Tommy?" she guessed.

"Actually, it's more that I have a letter from... well, here. Read it." He handed over the letter that he and John had worked on the previous night and that John had carefully copied out this morning. Will had been impressed by the neatness and precision of John's writing but in retrospect, he shouldn't have been. After all, the man was an artist.

Mrs. Potter lowered the letter, a small frown on her face. "What an unusual idea."

Will had to struggle to hide a frown of his own. He'd hoped for a slightly more enthusiastic response. "I thought it was a good idea."

"It is a good idea," Mrs. Potter said, with a bit more warmth. "The idea of Mr. Merriweather running such a school, however..."

"That's actually what I'm here to talk to you about," Will said, some of his tension bleeding away. "Did you notice in the last paragraph where Mr. Merriweather asked me if I knew of anyone who could serve as administrator for the school?"

"Of course, but..." Her voice trailed off. "Oh, you mean me?"

"Would you be at all interested?" Will asked hopefully.

Her face positively lit up. "I would be honored," she said. "Sarah's been pushing me to let her take over the store, saying it's too much for me." Her voice got a little lower, gossipy. "Honestly, I think she just wants a reason to get out of the house ever since little Emma got married and moved to Phoenix."

Will grinned back. "I'm so glad," he said honestly. "You'll be perfect for the job."

They spent half an hour planning until there seemed to be more gawkers than actual customers. "I'll write to Mr. Merriweather," he promised. "Well, Mr. Rutherford. He's probably the most reliable one of the bunch."

"And I'll speak to Sarah," Mrs. Potter promised in return, looking ten years younger than she had when Will had first stepped into her store. 

Will couldn't stop smiling as he rode out of town. Everything was coming together.

~~~

He was a little less happy as he rode back into town the next morning, a letter to Mr. Rutherford in his pocket. His bed had been cold without John in it, and breakfast lonely. 

Mrs. Potter was also more restrained, but she'd always smiled when Will entered the store and today was no exception. "Good morning, Mr. Connors."

He smiled back. "If you really are going to be buying my ranch, I think you should call me Will."

Her smile grew. "I'd like that, dear."

"You are buying the ranch?" Will checked. "That's what I said in the letter."

"Sarah is being rather... difficult," Mrs. Potter said. She put her hands on her hips. "But she'll come around. And if she doesn't, well, I've had offers for the store before and I'll have them again."

Will blinked. "Really? You'd sell your store?"

"Let me tell you something Mr. Connors – I never wanted to be a storekeeper. My Henry bought the store and I supported him, of course. Still, he's gone now and this school of yours is too important to leave to Mr. Merriweather. I want to be a part of it."

"In that case, could you post this for me?" Will asked, passing over the letter.

"I would be delighted," she said with a smile.

~~~

John returned two days later and Will barely gave him time to take care of Old Faithful before dragging him to bed.

"What did she say?" John asked as they held each other afterwards.

"She said yes," Will said with a smile. "There are some problems but she's more excited about the school than I am. She'll find a way to make it work."

"I was thinking about that, actually; as great as Mrs. Potter probably is with administration, I can't quite picture her on a horse."

Will acknowledged the truth of that statement. "But she could hire someone. I'm sure Jesse would be willing to come out to help."

John frowned a little at the mention of Jesse's name. "Between the smokehouse and the odd jobs, how does he have time to run his own ranch?"

Will stared. "Are you jealous?" he asked, charmed.

"No," John said, sounding affronted.

Will smirked, but let it go. "Jesse doesn't actually raise cattle. He has some sheep, but it's a small herd. He mostly sells the wool and meat in town. The odd jobs help him make ends meet."

John sighed and pulled Will closer. "Now that we're definitely leaving, I don't want to have to wait any longer."

"Me, either," Will breathed. "How much longer will it be before you're ready to go?"

It was a fairly vague euphemism for all of the money John was collecting but John didn't pretend that he didn't know what Will was talking about. "Two trips would probably be safer, but I'd rather just go get it all at once before it gets too warm. Right now there still isn't much chance of me meeting anyone on the trail."

"How much money is there?" Will asked.

"Getting greedy?" John asked, sounding amused.

"More like trying to figure out if I have a bag large enough to fit it all," Will muttered. Louder he added, "We have more money in the jar than I've ever seen in my life. I can't even imagine carrying that much money with me across the country."

John leaned over to kiss the top of Will's head. "I have enough to fund the school and to buy the house and to send Tommy to university, if you change your mind about leaving him with the Rutherfords. Even if he wants to go to school in England."

"I wish I hadn't asked," Will murmured.

"You'll have to know eventually," John said. "If anything happens to me—"

"Stop right there," Will said flatly, lifting up so he could look down at John. "Nothing's going to happen to you."

John smiled, with a touch of bitterness. "I'm not planning on putting myself in danger but I am an outlaw, Will. There are no guarantees."

Will scowled. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"All right," John said gently. "Let's talk some more about the school. How will we find students?"

They talked together quietly until it was late and John finally drifted off. Will stayed up even later, savoring the warmth of John at his side and doing his damnedest not to worry.

~~~

After checking on the cattle, John went back out again for the rest of his money. Will threw himself into repairs on the house, the knowledge that Mrs. Potter would soon be living there driving him to make the building as comfortable and sturdy as possible.

John still hadn't returned when Will went back into town. As he'd hoped, there was a telegram waiting for him, a telegram of just three words besides the sender's name. Will smiled and hurried over to the store.

"There you are," Mrs. Potter cried, thrusting a fistful of change at Mrs. Smith and moving around the counter. "I've been waiting for you to come back to town." She stopped in front of Will, beaming. "Sarah's agreed to take over the store."

"That's wonderful!" Will cried. He handed her the telegram.

"'Yes and yes'," she read, and looked up in confusion.

"In my letter to Mr. Merriweather, I gave him my price for the ranch and my suggestion that you act as administrator. That's his answer."

Mrs. Potter beamed.


	13. Chapter 13

Things moved swiftly after that. John came back with enough money to fill multiple saddle bags. Will convinced Mr. Rutherford to send another telegram with a vague response and used that as evidence for Mrs. Potter that Charles Merriweather had entrusted Mr. Rutherford with funds for the ranch. Mr. Smith, the town's notary, acted as witness as Will signed the deed of the ranch over to Mrs. Potter (acting on behalf of Charles Merriweather).

He was ready to leave right at that moment. Unfortunately, it simply wasn't possible. John did leave – he obviously couldn't be in the house when Mrs. Potter moved in and besides, it was far too much of a risk for John to even consider taking the train with Will –but Will remained behind to assist Mrs. Potter with any last minute repairs or alterations she needed in the house. She was most impressed by the feeding system in the chicken coop and Will found himself forced to accept praise that he had not earned.

He did better accepting her admiration over the design of the cellar, though there was an awkward moment when she commented on how well hidden it was under the rug.

In the end, it took nearly two weeks for Will to get his own belongings packed and Mrs. Potter moved in. There were still details to be arranged – they still hadn't come up with a good system for finding students – but Will used Charles Merriweather's distance from the town as an all-purpose excuse and Mrs. Potter acknowledged that it wasn't wise to seek out students before they actually had a place to put them.

Will didn't stay to help build that cabin, no matter how much Mrs. Potter pressed him to do so, but he did give her the bulk of his savings for her to hire men from town to do the work. John had left additional money behind, of course, but Will kept that to himself. He still hadn't figured out how to explain coming into the kind of money that John provided.

Finally, Mrs. Potter was settled, Grady was confirmed to not be a threat – the sheriff was Mrs. Potter's cousin's son, and both deputies had regularly eaten cookies at her table – and Jesse was practically living on the ranch. Satisfied that he'd done his duty, Will wrote a letter to Tommy and the Rutherfords, wrote a second letter to Will Adams of Beadle & Adams, and loaded his luggage and Brownie onto the first train that had accommodations specifically for horses. On the fifth day of May, Will settled into his seat and watched out the window as the town that had been the center of his life for nearly a decade disappeared behind him.

~~~

When the train stopped in St. Louis, Will collected one of his bags and his horse and left the remainder on the train to be delivered to the Rutherfords. After a quick stop for directions, he made his way to the Planters Hotel at Fourth and Pine and for a few moments he just stared at the towering building. Even if he'd just come from Philadelphia, he'd find this structure impressive. After nine years in a town that never went beyond two stories, the hotel was downright intimidating.

He was just starting to wonder how exactly he was going to meet up with John when he heard a gruff, beloved voice behind him. "Hello, stranger."

Will struggled to hold back a grin as he turned around. And gaped. "John?"

John rubbed the bushy beard that covered the lower half of his face. "Like it?"

Will cast about for something that wasn't an immediate 'no'. "I hardly recognized you," he finally managed.

"That's the point," John said dryly. "Come on, let's get Brownie stabled and you checked in to the room." As he strode ahead he added, "And don't forget that I'm Charles here." He lowered his voice to a register that went straight to Will's prick. "At least in public."

Will stifled a groan; he didn't bother to do the same with his glare. John just laughed.

As they made their way to the stables, Will took in the other changes in John. What he noticed first were the clothes: he'd gotten used to John wearing the work clothes that he'd produced from one of his supply caches or, later, some of the work clothes that Will had brought with him from Philadelphia, before hard work and time had thinned him down. In fact, he'd almost forgotten that John was a bit of a dandy or that when he'd first met him, John had been wearing clothing fit for a railroad baron.

He was wearing the same fabric for his shirt as last time, Will suspected, thought it was hard to tell because John was also wearing a formal suit the likes of which Will had never seen before. The jacket was short for one thing, barely hanging down past John's hips, and it didn't look like it was at all fitted at the waist. It was also buttoned to just a few inches below John's chin, with only a hand's-breadth of white silk showing. His tie, if it could be called such, was a long, thin strip of material, nothing at all like the bowtie that was the height of fashion when Will had left for less civilized lands.

The pants were less dramatically different, being of the same basic design as those that came before. However, they were so loose as to almost appear baggy, even looser than the work pants that Will still wore and they looked... well, actually, they looked very comfortable. Perhaps the suit wasn't so bad after all. Especially since a quick glance around at the crowd revealed that the significant majority of men were wearing suits nearly identical to John's.

Less obvious than the new suit, but no less visible to Will, was John's new way of walking: confident, with a loose, rolling gait and a head held high. It was the walk of a man who held the world in the palm of his hand and knew it, who wouldn't hesitate to take anything that he wanted. Of course, that was how John had always been but now he was projecting that side of himself proudly, for all the world to see.

Will's throat went a bit dry and he wondered just how long it would take to get to the damned stables.

Fortunately, they were almost there and John had clearly made prior arrangements as Brownie was led into a stall right next to Old Faithful. Money exchanged hands and Will let it happen without protest: he was developing a sort of tunnel vision centered on John's room at the hotel. More specifically, on the bed in said room. Right now, the weeks that he'd been parted from John felt very long indeed.

Once in the hotel, John carefully positioned Will in sight of the front desk. "Stay here and try to look poor," he murmured as he dropped Will's bag by his side.

Will wasn't exactly sure how 'poor' was supposed to look, though he was quite confident that he mastered 'incredulous' while he watched John talking to the man at the front desk. Apparently, that was close enough because John came back smiling. "I told him you were my very proud cousin," he said, reclaiming the bag. "And that you were used to splitting the costs of a room with someone."

"All true," Will commented as they made their way to the stairs. "Also true for you, I'd imagine."

"Ah, but definitely not true for a man such as Charles Merriweather the Third," John said airily. "I had to come up with some reason for not paying for you to have a second room." His voice had dropped again as he reached the end of that sentence and Will's prick responded most predictably.

"Are we there yet?" he huffed, only partially because of lust – he wasn't accustomed to using stairs on a regular basis and his leg was protesting.

John laughed but he also took Will's elbow in a strong hand and helped him with the stairs. By the time they reached their floor, they were both a little out of breath and struggling to hide their eagerness as they made their way down to hall to their room as fast as Will's leg permitted. John actually fumbled with the key for a moment, which made Will feel less worried about his own impatience, and once the door was open they practically fell into the room.

If it had been up to John, they would have fallen to the floor right then and there, but Will forced himself to remember the practicalities. He was the one who shut the door and locked it and he was the one who dragged them both to the bed. Once ensconced in its downy softness, however, he felt his own job was done and gave himself over to John's ministrations.

John, in turn, devoted himself to stripping them both as fast as humanly possible. With a jerk on Will's hips, he pulled Will to the edge of the bed and went down on his knees.

Will had to choke back a wail as wet heat engulfed his cock and it was only John's firm grip on his thighs that prevented him from shoving himself up. Lord, he'd missed this. The feel of John's hands on his body, the sweaty slide of their skin, John's mouth and tongue and lips... never again, Will decided. Never again would he allow weeks to go by without John at his side.

Without warning, that wonderful, all-consuming heat moved away and Will made a wordless noise of protest deep in his throat before he was able to lift his head to see what was wrong.

He found John looking back at him with a calculating smile. "You know, there're extra pillows in this room."

Will immediately grasped the insinuation. "Yes," he said, attempting to push himself back on the bed, harder than it looked with his legs not quite reaching the floor. "Oh, yes. Definitely."

John's smile became a grin as he smoothly stood up and helped Will move back. "Who first?"

"Me," Will said promptly. Off John's smirk, he added, "I need to take a bath afterwards anyway."

John deflated briefly, then his eyes narrowed. Will hid a smirk of his own. "I'll make you eat those words," John said crawling across the bed towards Will with a feral expression.

Will adopted a look of utter innocence. "What words?"

With a growl, John pounced. Gently, of course, because despite his words and Will's wishes, they both had to be careful of Will's leg. For a few ridiculous moments they tussled as best they could without actually moving until Will's patience ran out and he hooked an arm over the back of John's head, pulling him in for a kiss. 

When he pulled back, Will whispered, "I know you've thought about how we're going to do this. What's next?"

John smirked and pulled open the tiny drawer in the bedside table. Inside was a familiar bottle.

Next, he began piling up pillows: two went under Will's hips, two went under Will's bad leg, and the one that had been under Will's head went under his side instead. Will wasn't entirely sure what that last pillow was for, but he wasn't about to ask as John had taken his good leg by the ankle and was holding it to the side, spreading Will's legs wide in the process and exposing him completely to John's stare.

Will's cock twitched.

Shifting forward, John released Will's leg and grabbed the bottle. Will moaned as a calloused finger spread oil over his entrance and then pressed its way inside. Truth of the matter was, even after they'd given up on trying to take each other, Will had always liked having John's fingers in him. It was like mustard on a ham sandwich – at first the taste was strange and pungent, but the additional flavor added a spark to the simple dish and while a plain sandwich was always still good, a sandwich with mustard was a treat.

John was giving him one hell of a treat now, with two fingers pushed deep inside and a third probing the tight-stretched edge of Will's muscle. Will tried to push back on the finger, but found that John's carefully arranged pillows prevented him from being able to move without using his good leg, and John's body was holding that leg immobile. Will stifled a laugh. Trust John to ensure that no harm could come to Will, even from Will himself.

Since he couldn't use his body to hurry things along, Will used his voice. "I'm _ready_."

John smirked and pointedly pushed in twice more before he pulled his fingers out and oiled up his prick. Will closed his eyes in anticipation and was rewarded by a blunt, thick head pushing up against his body and pushing its way inside.

Hooking his arm under Will's good leg, John began thrusting forward, alternating long deep strokes with clusters of short, intense jabs that made Will writhe. Will panted and gasped and bit his lip hard to keep from shouting out. The faint hint of copper on his tongue was accompanied by John's hand on Will's prick and Will suddenly spilled his seed with such force that even John was splattered with milky white.

John groaned deep in his chest and shoved himself forward three more times before his entire body locked in place, eyes screwed tight and arms shaking from where they were holding himself up over Will.

A second later those arms gave way entirely and Will quickly learned that, while the pillows had admirably served their function in protecting his leg from jarring, they were intensely uncomfortable when supporting not only his weight but John's as well. By dint of shoving and pillow throwing, he managed to get them both arranged in some semblance of comfort and settled down to enjoy the moment.

"Leg all right?" John mumbled, his head cradled on Will's chest.

"It's great," Will said, planting a kiss on John's head. John let out a happy murmur and promptly went to sleep.

Will was a bit slower to follow. Tomorrow was going to be a busy day, as he still had a novel to finish and John a charity to organize. Not to mention that Will needed a whole new wardrobe before he arrived back east and he was already dreading what John was like when shopping.

Arriving back east had its own set of highs and lows. On the one hand, Will would finally get to see Tommy again and his heart lifted at the thought. He'd already planned out half a dozen things that he and Tommy would do, and he knew that Tommy had a dozen more.

On the other hand, John wouldn't be coming with him, instead continuing on to Boston to start looking for a house. It was a necessary separation but that didn't mean Will had to like it.

With a gusting breath, Will forcibly pushed all of those thoughts aside. They could be dealt with tomorrow. Instead, he focused on the looseness of his body, on the warmth between his legs from John's beard, and on the sleeping man held safe within his arms. 

Whatever the morrow may bring, tonight was... perfect.


End file.
